


say my name

by PoemIsDead



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Dark's Dark, Demons, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Jack's gay, M/M, Mark's not, Minor Character Death, Pining, Shameless Smut, So much angst, Touch-Starved, Violence, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 74,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/pseuds/PoemIsDead
Summary: Jack's keeping a secret, and only Dark knows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go, throwing a fic inspired by [a cartoonjunkie piece](http://cartoonjunkie.tumblr.com/post/149200418300) into the massive pile of those.
> 
> Full disclosure, I'm writing this purely for a smut outlet, so it'll be sporadically updated as per my whims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started out just writing this for me, and then it kinda grew out of control, so I figured I'd post it. I promise I'm still working on everything else, I just like to have options for whatever particular muse is hitting me just then.

Jack first met Dark a year ago, the very first time he had stayed at Mark's house. It had been late, Jack and Mark hanging out with Tyler, who had only recently moved out to LA, just watching TV and chatting. Tyler had decided to make a quick run to the store, citing lack of alcohol and snacks, and mere minutes after he'd slipped out the door, the demon had appeared.

He'd thought it was a joke, of course. Mark goofing off, doing funny voices, pretending to be that fan made alter ego just to get a rise out of the Irishman, and Jack had jokingly responded, not bothering to look at him as he humored him with a characteristic Anti laugh, the character still being a fairly fresh creation for him. It wasn't until he glanced to the side, took in the pallid skin, greyscale and distorted, and the strange red gleam in his eye, that he had realized the weird world he'd stepped into.

He hadn't said much the first time. Mostly just examined him, those dark eyes with the strange gleam, like they were reflecting a red light from somewhere rather than emitting it, boring into him with an intensity that had left him dry mouthed and speechless.

Fear does funny things to people. There had been a strange kind of calm between them that day, sitting on opposite sides of the couch, the demon leaned just a little forward, one hand resting on his own knee, the other gripping the back of the couch. He'd asked him things, most of which he couldn't remember now, and Jack had answered in a quiet - but strangely steady - voice, afraid to break the weird spell that had started between them.

He remembered feeling that void pulling him in, the utter blackness of the creature drawing in all the warmth and the light and the color around them, like a vacuum, and he'd sat in shock as he conversed with a creature that was so very obviously not human.

Tyler had come back shortly after, and it was like the demon had never been there, disappearing in the blink of an eye to be replaced with Mark, making a funny comment about something on TV and greeting Tyler with gusto as he saw the snacks he was dragging in.

Jack hadn't said a word to anyone. It wasn't like they'd believe him anyways. How was he supposed to explain it? _"Oh, thanks for the chips Tyler, did you know Mark turned into Darkiplier while you were gone?"_ He wasn't even sure _he_ believed that. Everything went back to normal so quickly, no evidence left behind of anything . . . paranormal. Mark didn't mention it, and with each new day he was there passing without a sign of the creature, it became easier and easier to think he'd just imagined the whole thing.

  


* * *

  


He'd almost forgotten it by the time he saw him in person again. He was back down for a convention, Mark, Jack, Tyler and Ethan all ending up in the same hotel, and they'd been hanging out in Mark's room just chatting and goofing off, comparing some of the gifts they'd gotten from fans. Ethan had run off to grab something from his room to show them, and Tyler has stepped out to take a phone call, leaving the pair alone for the first time since Jack had gotten there.

He'd felt it this time, this cold stillness creeping into the room, like even the air around him had frozen, and he'd looked up to find the demon smiling at him, a hungry look in his eyes.

It wasn't like the first time. He seemed more . . . excited this go around, creeping closer, his smile running crooked across his face as he leaned towards him.

_"It's good to see you again, Jack."_

His voice was like a purr. Or a growl. Something predatory, but dangerously soft, and he had watched the way his lips had curled around his words, like he was caressing each one, every syllable important, not a single one careless or meaningless. It made him feel strangely . . . plain. Like he had worn sweatpants to a formal dinner party. Underdressed and underclassed, and he couldn't find his voice before the creature was speaking again.

 _"I've missed you."_ Jack had shuddered, his skin shivering at the words, and he couldn't look him straight on anymore, his eyes falling to the big gray hands gripping the bedspread. _"Mark's other friends are so . . ._ boring _."_

_"Who are yeh?"_

He couldn't look up when he asked, even after he'd found his voice, and he cringed at the sound. His words were too . . . weightless. And soft. They seemed wrong next to the creature's timbre.

_"You know who I am."_

And then Ethan had come vaulting back into the room, holding a giant custom made gear plushy, and it was just like before, the creature gone in the blink of an eye, Mark back to his goofy self as he immediately proclaimed Tiny Box Tim's superiority. Only this time, Jack caught him shooting strange looks at him throughout the rest of the night.

It wasn't until a few days later, the convention over and everyone heading back to their respective homes, that Mark had invited him to stay at his place for the last two nights he was in the States, and Jack got a chance to really learn what he was dealing with.

They were in Mark's car, having just recorded a short after-convention vlog, the silence hanging easy and comfortable around them as Jack quickly flipped through his phone, categorizing pictures. Mark had stared straight ahead, watching the road with a sort of far-off look, and Jack had let him be, figuring he was lost in thought.

It was several minutes later before he finally spoke.

_"You met him, didn't you?"_

He didn't need any kind of explanation as to who Mark meant. It was clear just from his tone of voice, and Jack had frozen, his thumb hovering over his phone screen, breath caught in his throat. He remembered feeling a deep desire to lie, to pretend he didn't know what he was talking about. Like a child protecting his imaginary friend. Or maybe just if he admitted it, it made it real.

He didn't answer right away. His finger came down onto the screen, moving slowly to scroll through the feed he'd been looking at, not absorbing the information, just needing the normality of the action. When he'd finally spoken up, his voice had been shaky and quiet.

_"Yeah."_

Mark had let out a shaky breath of his own at that, and Jack could remember the way his fingers had stretched out on the wheel, curling back around the cool leather carefully.

_"Was this the first time?"_

_"No . . . back in February. When I stayed at yer place."_

Mark's fingers had tightened around the wheel, and they were both silent for a while.

_"I'm sorry."_

His voice had been so soft, and genuine, and Jack had finally turned to look at him properly, swallowing his nerves as he studied his face.

_"What is he?"_

And Mark had told him, his voice tight and strained, his knuckles white, eyes still fixed on the road ahead. He'd told him about what Darkiplier really was, the demon nested in his soul, rooted in deep, but under control. Mostly. And Jack had listened, asking questions in that same calm, soft voice he'd used as when he'd first talked to Dark.

Only when he was done, and a thicker silence hung over the pair, did Mark finally turn his eyes on him, just briefly, and Jack could see the fear there.

_"You don't have to come back."_

But the words had seemed so wrong to Jack, and he remembered the way his hands had tightened in his lap, his jaw jutting forward in a stubborn set, and his voice like quiet iron when he spoke.

_"I'm not afraid of him."_

Mark's eyes had been a strange mix of fear and happiness, and he'd given him a strained kind of smile as they pulled up to his house.

  


* * *

  


The third time he met him, he was ready. He felt it the moment the air changed, even with Mark all the way in the kitchen, and he'd willed his feet to move, to drag him off of the couch, and did his best to ignore the tight ball of tension coiling in his gut.

He would _not_ be afraid of him. He'd promised himself the night before, when he'd bid goodnight to Mark and curled up in the guest bed. Mark had told him he had him under control, that even when he slipped out, he usually behaved for fear of being locked away for weeks at a time. He wouldn't risk actually _hurting_ Jack, not when it could hurt the little bit of freedom he had finally started to be given.

So when he felt the air change, Jack had forced himself to stand, to make his way into the kitchen, where Mark had been cooking, and face the demon as he leaned against the counter, hands spread against the edge, gripping tight. He looked the same as he had the first two times, oddly gray, intense, almost flickering, with those jet black eyes and the strange glint of red. He was watching every move Jack made, his face open and hungry, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stepped willingly into his gaze.

_"Hello, Jack."_

His voice was the same as he remembered, too, all lashed energy and rumbling words molded behind sharp teeth. Jack hadn't flinch, hadn't look away from those weird eyes, as he stepped forward to place his hands on the counter opposite, facing him across the island.

 _"Hi, Dark,"_ he said, and that voice was weirdly calm again, and too light, and too normal for the situation, but he had ignored that. _"The food's gonna get cold."_

It was perhaps the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. To look at that creature, with it's malicious eyes and stuttering frame, feel the pull of that empty blackness that seemed to be coiled within him, and talk to him about something as mundane as dinner.

But he was going to do it. He was going to make this _normal_ , because he was not about to let this unwanted _thing_ fuck up his friendship. It was part of Mark, for now, and he had to get over that, had to get past it and accept it, because the other choice was to leave, and he wasn't ready to do that.

He remembered taking the time to think that one should probably have more of an existential crisis than this when faced with the reality of _demons_ , but he had shoved the thought aside, knowing it would do nothing more than complicate this already confusing situation.

Dark had laughed at him then, the sound rolling and echoing in his ears in strange ways, and he'd had to suppress a shudder as the creature leaned further across the counter, capturing him in that dark gaze.

 _"Well then,"_ he'd crooned. _"Feel free to eat."_

It felt like a walk to the gallows when he stepped forward, pacing around the counter to the stove, where the sauce was still simmering in the pan, the pasta in a colander in the sink. He'd been excited at the prospect of homemade spaghetti, especially from Mark, who never failed to impress with his meals. But as he'd looked down at the food then, the idea of actually being able to consume it had been akin to consuming a tire.

And then he'd felt the cold body behind him, and his heart had done it's best to strangle him, hands gripping the handle of the stove desperately as his breath hitched in fear. He hadn't heard him move, hadn't seen him flit so fast from his position to behind Jack, arms to either side, caging him in, and Jack had to wonder if he had even moved at all, or if he'd simply teleported to the new spot.

Dark's laugh had been a low rumble behind him, prickling the skin on his neck as he leaned so close, too close, his body feathering against his skin. Not quite touching, but brushing with each deep breath. Jack had stayed as still as he could, trying to teach himself to breathe again, and repeating the words over and over in his head.

_He won't hurt you, he won't hurt you, he won't hurt you._

He had felt that terrible void inside him, too close and too strong, and he couldn't speak, or breathe, or think. It felt like having death itself pressed against him, and he couldn't escape even if he tried.

That voice had been like inky velvet in his ear.

_"Do I scare you, little lamb?"_

A voice inside of Jack had risen up then, quiet but strong and sure, and it told him not to lie. Never lie. Not to him. Not to this terrible, peregrine creature that seemed fascinated with him.

_"Yes."_

Dark had released him at that, easing around to leaning against counter, his gray hand pressed against the marble surface, making all of the subtle colors, the greens and blues and yellows hidden in the stone, pop out in stark contrast. Jack had looked at it for only a moment, before turning his focus back to the food, shaking fingers reaching out for one of the plates set aside for them, willing his hands to be strong enough to hold it before he turned his attention to the pasta.

 _"Is that so"_ Dark murmured, his voice rumbling like thunder in the distance. _"How about now?"_

Jack's eyes had jumped to him without thought, skittering around the edges of his vision to catch sight of the demon still standing there next to him.

Only he didn't look quite like a demon anymore. His skin was once again that warm, olive tone, the flickering around the edges of his body gone and replaced with Mark's usual solid breathing and easy posture. And there was a familiar warmth pooling off of him, filling the void that awful blackness had drawn in the room.

If not for the eyes, he could have almost pretend it was Mark standing in front of him. But they were still there, still so very wrong, black with a glint of red, and Jack had swallowed before turning his attention back to the food, heaping a large helping of pasta onto his plate before he had answered.

_"Yeah. That's better. Just stay like that."_

And Dark had done so, those demon eyes watching him silently as he ate his spaghetti and stubbornly read his phone like this was just a normal meal with his friend.

  


* * *

  


It had been almost a year now since he had first met Dark, and life was, strangely, normal. He lived his usual life, moving to Brighton half way through the year and continuing his life as a "YouTube Phenomenon" as Mark had once dubbed it. He still collabed with Mark and the guys, still talked to them regularly, still visited them on the rare occasion that a con brought him across the pond. It was like nothing had really changed.

Only now, once in a while, he and Mark talked about Dark.

The American seemed deeply happy to be able to share his secret with someone else, and, while he'd been hesitant to bring it up at first, Jack had encouraged it, asking questions and making jokes and generally being okay with. And he could see how happy that made Mark.

He'd only seen Dark in fleeting moments since the spaghetti incident, and each time had been fairly . . . tame. Dark was like a panther, or some other predator he wasn't familiar with. Just the way he moved made him feel like he was being hunted. But with each new experience, and the lack of any kind of attack on him, Jack was slowly starting to feel at ease with the creature. He was still terrifying, especially in his natural form. But you could only be around something so many times without it hurting you before you started to lose the fear.

Not that he'd really had time to hurt him since then, most of the chance meetings lasting less than a minute. Mark had explained how much energy it took for him to take control without direct permission like that, and it seemed after sating his initial curiosity, he had no interest in expending the effort to come see the Irishman for more than a quick peek. Which Jack was more than fine with. It gave him more time with Mark.

Which was what he was currently enjoying now. This was the first trip he'd been able to make in a while that wasn't for some convention or event that he had to stress about. Just a week to spend with his American friends, doing whatever they wanted, and Jack couldn't have been happier as he lounged across the couch, grinning from ear to ear as Mark and Ethan screamed at the TV together, over the top and rowdy as always. It was comfortable and fun and wholesome, just chilling with his friends, nothing to do, no pressure to put on faces for a camera, just enjoying each other's company.

Jack grinned and pulled his feet up as Mark made his way angrily back to the couch, giving him space to sit in a huff as he shot some jokingly snotty comment at Ethan. Jack mostly just watched, feeling mellow, if a little tired, and just enjoying the show as Ethan threw a pillow across the room, Mark catching it easily before it reached him. His eyes traced the way his arm bunched, veins pressed against the skin, as he drew back and pelted it back at the younger man, trying not to laugh behind his pretend angry words.

Mark's eyes danced to his, and Jack offered him a big toothy grin before throwing his legs back out, using Mark like a footstool as he got comfortable on the couch once more, and feeling that pleasant warmth settle into his gut as the American didn't make a move to remove them, just reached for the remote and changed the channel.

This was nice. Really nice. He wanted to stay just like this for the next few hours at least, maybe the next few days, just lounging with Mark and watching TV and goofing off. This would be his whole trip, if it had been left up to him. Just relaxing and soaking it all in.

Ethan's phone rang just as the show switched over to commercial, and he darted out of the room, opting to vault over the back of the sofa on Mark's other side rather than just walk around, and Jack and Mark both cried in mock protest, flicking popcorn at him that Chica happily came behind to hoover up. Jack was still grinning, big and wide, when he glanced back to Mark, about to make some unimportant comment, only to find it wasn't Mark beside him anymore.

Dark was grinning at him. Big, like a mockery of Jack's own fading smile, splitting his face in a broken line and reaching his black eyes, filling them with mirth. He looked ready to break in raucous laughter, but didn't quite cross that border, just watching Jack with eyes that just _knew_.

He knew.

Fuck, he knew.

He was staring at him with that mocking smile and hungry eyes because he knew damn well what was going on, what Jack had kept secret all this time, and it made the demon happy in some demented way. Jack's heart was in his throat, mouth dry, lip quivering, as he asked the question he already knew the answer to.

"What?"

And Dark answered in the most seductive purr he'd ever heard, wrapping the words in warmth and pleasure as he leaned closer to say it almost in his ear.

"You love him, don't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Darkiplier is much . . . softer in this one than how I see him, but I'm going for more classic smut, so, you know, bear with me.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack dug through his bag with numb fingers, feeling around for his pajamas without really looking at what he was touching, listening to the shouts and laughter echoing up the stairs. Mark and Ethan were still goofing off, would probably be up for hours yet, playing games and watching TV, and being general goofballs. And Jack _knew_ he was being a buzzkill by going to bed this early, because not 15 minutes ago he himself had planned to be up all night with them too.

But the idea of sitting in the same room with those knowing eyes for even a minute longer had been too much to handle.

Dark had had to leave almost immediately, Ethan returning in record time and chasing the demon from his friend, Mark grinning and throwing more popcorn at him, probably just to give Chica an excuse for more treats.

But he'd known he'd been gone for a moment. Jack could see it in the way he glanced at him, just a quick look of concern, looking for confirmation that everything was okay. He'd gotten good at recognizing the moments when Dark came to see the Irishman, and he was always careful to make sure Jack was fine after them.

But Jack wasn't fine this time. He was not fine in the least, even as he gave the American a little smile and a quick thumbs up, because, fuck, _Dark knew_.

He'd kept it secret from everyone. He'd been so careful with it, or tried to be at least, because he wasn't looking for drama and he was happy enough just being around him, and he'd already decided long ago that he was _never_ going to tell Mark.

But now the secret was out, and it wasn't just up to him anymore. He had no control over the demon, no way to stop him from spilling that bit of information to anyone and everyone. He didn't even know what the creature would do with that bit of power, but he knew his comfortable secret existence was over.

Jack yanked his shirt over his head with sharp motions, throwing the blue cloth carelessly into the far corner as he leaned down to shuck his pants. Shit, he was so fucked. Just the thought of that thing knowing, with his hungry eyes and broken smile, and the way he'd purred to him like he'd given him the best birthday treat in the world. He was going to be sick, his hands shaking as he struggling to pull up the pajama bottoms.

What if he'd already told him? Or what if he was just waiting for when Mark went to bed, to talk to him just as he was falling asleep, when it was easiest to communicate? Or maybe he'd wait and tell him at just the perfect moment, just when they were at their most comfortable, just chilling together and talking in that easy way they did, and he could let the disgust and horror draw a fissure between their easy relationship like a hot knife?

Fuck, what had he done? How could he fuck up this bad? Why did he have to like him in the first place?

"So."

Jack froze, fingers still gripping the waistband around his hips, eyes wide as the hairs on his nape prickled. Mark's voice. Behind him. From the doorway. Fuck, how had he gotten up here so quick? He couldn't hear anything from downstairs anymore, the silence in the house suddenly crushing in around him.

"So?" Jack forced himself to ask, his voice breaking as he smoothed the elastic band around his hips, wishing he'd been fast enough to get a shirt on as he slowly turned to face the intruder.

It was Dark, all gray and fuzzy and terrifying, and he should never find that sight relieving, but just then it was. It wasn't Mark come to tell him he wanted him out. Not yet, at least.

"You love Mark."

The words were soft, but they carried easily in the quiet room, and Jack could feel the blush tinging his cheeks as he glowered at him.

"No, I don't" he spat back in annoyance, his mouth pressing in a hard line as soon as the words were gone. He'd never been a very good liar. Especially when he had to look at the person. He spun on his heel, turning back to face the bed where his sleep shirt was still laid out. "Yeh've been paying too much attention to fan service."

"Yes you do," the velvety voice purred, and it was closer, creeping towards him, his body tightening up in fear at the sound.

_He won't hurt you._

"You love him."

He was too close. Half way across the room. Jack's fingers fumbled with the cloth of the shirt, struggling to find the right hole as his breath hitched painfully in his chest.

"Go away, Dark."

He could feel him now, just behind him, that void ripping the warmth from his skin, making him shiver, and his hands stilled on the fabric, that terrible feeling taking over as he pressed up close behind him, his face so close, breath whispering against his ear.

"He doesn't love you."

Suddenly, the rage sparked through him, hot for just a moment, fueled by the frustration and the hopelessness he'd struggled with for so long, and he swung around, one hand up like he was going to hit him. Only he didn't. Just held it in a fist between them as he glared at the flickering creature.

"Yeh think I don't know that?" he spat back, his face contorting as the fist came to rest against that monochrome chest, the light sweater looking too soft on the intimidating frame. "I'm no' an idiot. I know damn well how Mark feels. What he'd think of . . . this."

Well, there went any pretense of trying to save his dignity. Not like it was going to work anyway. The creature had a way of looking into his soul, and he couldn't keep his voice from shaking anyways. It was done. Cat was out of the bag, and there was no putting it back in. Might as well own it.

Dark was silent a moment, just boring into him with those pit-like eyes, the crimson shine glinting in the dim light of the room, and Jack was suddenly very aware of how close the creature was, how cold the air was, how empty his body felt as the fleeting rage ebbed. The fist on his chest turned to a hand, palm flat against the demon's chest, light pressure to put space between them as he tried to take a step back.

Only the bed was a lot closer than he remembered it being, and he could barely gain another few inches, space that Dark cut through without hesitation. He was looming in, pressing against the hand at his chest, a little smile on his face as he got closer and forced Jack to lean away.

It was only too easy then for him to lose his balance, one solid shove from the lambant figure sending him sprawling back onto the bed, the little gasp in his throat catching as Dark followed him down.

This was way closer than he wanted to be. Way more stuck than he ever wanted to get. Trapped beneath the flickering frame, his arm tangled in the sheets around him, his heart racing in his chest. The one hand came back up to press against his cold body again, more pressure this time, fear and unease spurring his self protection to hold the thing at arm's length. But he was no match for Dark's iron strength.

"He doesn't love you," that velvet voice came again, one hand coming up to push green bangs from his face in frighteningly soft gesture, almost tender, and Jack swallowed hard.

_He won't hurt you._

"Get off me, Dark."

But if Dark had heard him, he didn't show it.

"He doesn't want to touch you, or let you touch him. He doesn't want to kiss you, or feel your hand around his cock, or watch you shudder as he enters you." His voice lowered as he spoke, rumbled and rasped in turn, and Jack felt the flush spread through him at the sound - so like Mark, but just . . . not. "He doesn't want to fuck you."

He should be angry. Or afraid. He should be riled at the words, or embarrassed, he should be wailing on Dark to let him up, he should be fighting, or _something_. But the words he's speaking, the dirty sin dripping from his tongue, even though it's not right and it's not what he wants, it just sounds so . . . filthy. To be coming from _those_ lips . . . it's not _fair_.

Suddenly, the hand pressed against that stone body warmed, a rush of heat spreading to his fingertips, and Jack looked down to watch the way the color seeped back into his body, chasing away the darkness and the void and replacing it with warmth and olive skin. He followed the transformation with his eyes, watching it feather across his body, washing it in color and beauty once more, and Jack swallowed as it splashed across his face, converting everything except those black eyes.

All at once, it was a familiar face looking down at him, warm and pleasant, the little smile and soft expression only ruined by the black orbs and the red glint, and all he'd have to do was close them and he'd be Mark, pinning him down, one knee pressed between his legs and his tongue darting out to wipe away the aftertaste of that sin on his lips.

"Do you want to know what it tastes like?"

Jack swallowed, his mouth opening to draw in a shaky breath after, as he struggled to keep his head on straight. That _voice_ , purred at him so close, rumbling in his chest, the sounds of the smile clear in each word, and he could just imagine it murmuring awful things into his ear, sounding just as natural as Jack had always imagined it would.

Fuck, this night was a hell of a roller coaster.

"W-what?" he finally managed, trying to clear his head, remember where he was, who he was talking to, why he was so upset. But all he could see was that beautiful man above him, casting waves of heating down to envelop him as his own temperature soared.

"His kiss. Do you want to know what you're missing?"

He was smiling down at him, and it was so wrong, those eyes were wrong, _this_ was wrong, and he needed to stop it now, but . . . just . . .

"No." His voice was a whisper when he answered, and somewhere in his head he was sure of that. He did _not_ want to know what kissing Mark was like. He did _not_ want to have the memory of those lips against his. He did _not_ want to know what he was missing, because it was only going to make him want it more, and he was never going to have it.

But when Dark leaned closer, his smiling turning crooked and perfect, the rest of him could care less about that bit.

"Liar," he murmured with that cocky grin of Mark's, and then he was pressing his lips against him.

It was warm. And rough. And _perfect_. Even at the slightest touch, Jack was already breathless, hungry for me. The way his lips molded perfectly over his own, pressing just right, his head tilted to get better access as he licked across his bottom lip. It had been far too long, and he would have been excited for any kind of contact, but this was _Mark_ , even if it wasn't it was him, his body, the man he'd been pining after stupidly for so long, and it felt so good and so satisfying and Jack wanted to stay just like this for hours, eyes closed, feeling the hungry lips against his own.

Dark opened his mouth, a little groan in the back of his throat as he pressed against his lips, urging them open to give him entry. He was slow, but insistent, absolute, no room to fight him or challenge him, and fuck right then he didn't want to. He wanted the man to kiss him senseless, until he couldn't breathe or see or think, and just then he was doing a damn good job of it.

Jack's fingers bit into the soft sweater the other man was wearing, curling around to pull him closer as he felt the tongue press into his mouth, his own coming to meet it. They fought for a moment, Jack just relishing the push against his mouth as he tried weakly to take control, just to feel the way he growled and pushed back, strong and skillful, and Jack submitted easily, letting him ravish his warm opening as whined against him.

His eyes fluttered open after a few moments, wild and hazy as they flickered to the face above him - eyes hidden behind heavy lids and dark lashes, cheeks flushed pink against the warm tones, dark hair messy and falling in his face as he took his time, careful and slow and sexy, and god why was Mark so damn beautiful, with his sexy jaw and big hands and pretty chocolate eyes-

Only . . . it wasn't chocolate eyes behind those closed lids. They were black, with a red shine, and Jack slowed, his fingers tightening harshly in the sweater to match his tightening chest.

This wasn't Mark. This was Dark. Dark, who was just fucking with him, like a cat with a toy, because Mark was _never_ going to want him like this, despite what his aching shaft was so desperately hoping. This was just the whims of a demon, who had some weird fascination with him, and Jack wasn't here to be his plaything.

He shoved hard against the immovable mass above him, putting his strength behind it, feeling the way the heat seeped through the soft wool and feeling a pang of loss in his chest as those demanding lips pulled away.

"Dark-" he started, and his voice sounded _wrecked_ , and he hated the way his breath stuttered as he tried to take a breath.

Before he could say anything more, Dark's head fell to his shoulder, his face turning to press a hot line of open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and Jack made a small noise of frustration high in his throat as his body flushed with pleasure, so eager for the attention he was being bathed in.

And then Dark spoke again, and Jack was lost, because that was _Mark's_ voice, so soft and broken and beautiful as he crooned his name.

_"Jack."_

Jack bucked at the feel of the hand at his waist, fingers pressed across the exposed skin of his stomach, his hips, and his dick jumped at attention, so eager at the proximity of the warm hand, big fingers, rough skin, _fuck, this was so wrong_.

Dark was shifting above him, his other knee pressing into the space between Jack's legs, forcing him open as he pressed his face into his neck, humming low and sending delicious shivers down his spine. He should make him stop. He should _really_ make him stop. He was going to regret this so bad, but god, it just felt so nice, and it was so easy to pretend, just let himself think that it was Mark, and he was loved, and wanted, and god, he just wanted the bliss those hands were promising.

Even still, his hand flew out to catch Dark's wrist when he starting pulling at his waistband, suddenly feeling way too exposed with his naked chest and far too easy to remove pants.

The fingers released the elastic easy enough - only to fall to the sharp tent his dick was making in the loose confines of his pajamas.

" _Fuck_ , w-wait-"

"Jack," he cut across him again, and god that voice would be the death of him, raw and soft and so very perfectly Mark, and shit, Dark could have switched over for all he knew, because that was just a little too real.

"Fuck, _Jack_ ," he gasped, as he pressed a hot palm against his aching erection, and Jack couldn't help but buck up into it, his hips jumping on their own, and he practically keened when that warm hand squeezed against his length. "You, mmm, god you feel good."

His lips were pressed against his neck, tongue lathing against the sensitive skin there, and Jack hardly noticed as he brought his own hand up to twine shaking fingers into his dark hair, back arching just so as the pleasure washed through him. He was rocking into that hand now, minute thrusts that he couldn't really control, and groaning quietly, muffled behind tightly shut lips. The hand at his wrist trailed up his arm to his shoulder, and he pressed his fingers under the fabric of the sleeveless shirt he wore, relishing the feel of warm skin sliding over rigid muscle, the way his arm tensed and jumped as he stroked him through his clothes.

This was every kind of fucked up. But right then, he didn't care. Right then, it was just him and his very vivid imagination, and his fantasy Mark who was making those sinful sounds into his neck and jerking him just right, and fuck, he could cum just like this, with the feel of that hot breath washing over his throat and the thick fingers inching forward to brush against his face, through his hair.

"M-Mark . . ."

It was soft, so very soft, quiet enough to be missed in the rough sounds of friction between them. But the man above him heard, his breath hitching, pressing his face into the little space behind his ear as he gasped hotly.

" _Yessss_ , Jack, yes," he groaned, his hand working quicker at him, and he was getting close, even with the frustration of the feeling dulled by clothes. "Yes baby, fuck, I wanna hear you."

Jack was lost, any logical thinking gone from his brain at the sound of _that voice_ saying _those words_. He was rocking up into his hand, pressing harder and harder with each pass as his frustration grew, his ragged breath ripped out of him in a broken gasp with every downstroke, and he just wanted to cum, to cum to Mark's hand, to hear him whispering filthy things into his ear and sounding so broken over _him_.

He didn't even consider fighting when that big hand skittered up to slip under his waistband once more, pressing past the last line of clothing defences to wrap firmly around his burning skin.

"Ah, god, _Mark_ ," Jack groaned, louder now but still quiet, and his voice jumped as he pressed a finger over his slit, sliding the leaking precum there out across his shaft. And then he was sliding his hand down over the slick flesh, and Jack was fucking up into his hand, his own hand twisting in that dark hair as he pressed his face into Mark's heavy shoulder, open-mouthed and gasping.

His orgasm caught him like a punch in the gut, surprising and breathtaking, and Jack's toes curled hard as he groaned into Mark's ear, his lips moving soundlessly as he tried to talk with breath that wasn't there. Pleasure roared through him, white hot, as he shot into his pants, and Mark's hand, and his throat was raw and broken when he finally started coming down.

Mark's free hand was carding through his hair, slow and careful, as Jack starting coming back to the world. He was blissed out, the warm afterglow of his orgasm washing through him like a drug, but he could feel the apprehension pooling in his gut, nervous and there, and it wasn't until he finally opened his eyes again that he remembered _why_.

Dark was smiling down at him, wicked eyes and wicked smile and a wicked creature, the color leaking from him in bits and pieces as he lazily started to let himself slip. Jack swallowed, hard, the warm glow chased from his body by the cold emptiness creeping back in, and he let the horror start to settle as he took it all in.

He let Dark do that. He let Dark . . . touch him. He let Dark make him a stupid sobbing mess.

If he wasn't so exhausted, he might have hit him.

Instead, he only watched, trying to catch his breath, as Dark leaned down with his demon smile to purr into his ear.

"Attaboy, Jack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, this was nothing but sin. Hope y'all enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack laid curled up under his covers, his wet hair dripping across his face, down his neck, soaking into the pillow beneath him. He was probably going to regret not properly drying it when he finally tried to sleep, but just then, he couldn't care less. The room was dark around him, covering him with an indigo blanket he usually reveled in, the night being his safe space, his home. But now it felt hollow and empty, and all too colorless as he stared out across the room with eyes that weren't particularly looking at anything.

He felt . . . well, he wasn't sure how he felt. The guilt was crushing, of course. It was doing its best to choke him, to drown him, drag him down into a complete and utter hellhole of misery, because not only had he gotten off to thoughts of his straight friend, he'd basically used his body like a fucking sex toy. Mark _had not_ consented to that. Mark had no idea it had even happened, as far as he knew, and yet it was _his_ hands that had done the deed, _his_ lips that had whispered lies to him, _his_ body that Jack had clung to as he came undone.

He was gonna be sick.

The only thing keeping it at bay was the exhaustion. And the confusion. He just couldn't get his mind straight on it. He knew without a doubt he was so sorry, that he would take it back in a heartbeat if he could, that he hadn't wanted that, would never wish for that, because it had been so very, very wrong.

But he also couldn't stop replaying it in his mind. The sound of his voice, the rough cadence, the way his hands felt pressing him down, running across his body, touching him in ways that made him shudder even now. It had been wrong. He hadn't asked for it. He didn't want it. But he couldn't pretend he didn't enjoy it.

And that was the worst part. Because even now, as he lay curled up in his ball of guilt and confusion and misery, he still felt his body flush with excitement at the memories that kept flitting through his head, unbidden and unwanted but inevitable none-the-less.

He'd _liked_ it. He couldn't begin to deny that. He could have fought harder if he really wanted to get away. He could have screamed. Hell, he'd only actually told Dark to stop once, hadn't he? The memory was blurry in some places, but he was certain he could have done more if he really didn't want it, because Dark might have been a demon, but he wasn't stupid enough to cause him real injury, or risk drawing Ethan's attention. No, Jack hadn't just been some helpless victim. In some way, he'd been a willing participant. In some way, this had been _his fault_.

He'd loved Mark for a long time. Had pined and dreamed, and done his damndest to make him happy in any way he could, because he knew he was never going to have the relationship he wanted with the man, and the best he could do was be the best friend he'd ever had.

And now he'd . . . he'd basically . . .

The room around him suddenly lit up, startlingly bright, a little square of light right in front of his eyes blinding him for a moment before he adjusted to the phone's screen. Jack didn't move, didn't shy away from the light, just stared dully at the screen laid out next to him on the bed until his eyes had focused enough to see the notification.

It was a text. From Mark. Something writhed viciously in Jack's gut, and he felt sick again, the blood pounding in his head, a dull ache behind his eyes. His heart still fluttered weirdly in his chest at the sight of the name, a habitual reaction he had never seemed to get over, but there was a tightness to it that blocked the smile that usually accompanied the feeling.

Why was he texting him? Did he . . . had Dark . . . would he really just text him if he knew? Wouldn't he come talk to him? Or maybe he couldn't stand to look at his face, and texting was the only option he had.

Jack wanted to hide deeper under his blankets, shut his eyes and pretend to sleep until the action exhausted him and he actually slipped away into the night's embrace. But he didn't. Because Mark might not know. He might just be texting him, he might have a question or something stupid, and Jack wouldn't leave him hanging right then. Whatever his reason for contacting him, he owed it to the American to answer.

He held the phone in shaky fingers in front of his face for several moments, trying to read the blurry text, before he realized he was having trouble seeing through tears he hadn't realized were there, and scrubbed at his face in annoyance.

 **Mark:** _"What happened? I came back and everyone's in their rooms. Are you okay? Did Dark do something?"_

Jack let out a shaky breath, tears threatening again as he tried to get the stupid screen to behave for him long enough to type out a reply. So he didn't know. Yet, at least. He didn't know if that was good or bad.

 _"We're fine, I think-"_ Jack started, but stopped almost immediately, because he realized he actually had no idea. When had Ethan gone to bed? Did Dark send him? Ethan didn't know, so how . . . ?

Before he could ponder too long, another text flashed across his screen.

 **Mark:** _"Dark says he told Ethan he wasn't feeling well, and went to bed. But I woke up in the kitchen. Did something happen? He's acting weird."_

And then another fast on its heels.

 **Mark:** _"How long was I gone?"_

Jack struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, painful and choking, and he didn't want to answer him, didn't want to be the one to say this, to tell Mark, to ruin the day they'd been having, ruin their relationship, when Jack still had five days left before he was supposed to leave, and they were supposed to just be relaxing and having fun, and this wasn't _fair_.

 **Jack:** _"I don't know. 20 mins maybe?"_

He honestly couldn't tell.

 **Mark:** _"What happened?"_

 **Mark:** _"Did he come to you?"_

He didn't want to. He didn't want to ruin this. He didn't want to break Mark's happy little bubble. He didn't want to _do this_.

 **Jack:** _"Yea."_

 **Mark:** _"Are you okay?_

The response was almost immediate, and Jack could feel the concern there, the taste of it souring on his tongue, and he wanted to cry again.

 _"No."_ He'd typed the letters out on the screen, staring at them, a hollow feeling in his chest as the weight of that tiny word crushed down on him. He wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. Fucking hell, _nothing was okay_ and he just wanted it to be right then. He wanted to go back to an hour ago, when everyone was just goofing off and things were easy and he didn't have to be so goddamn guilty and miserable, and it _wasn't fair_.

Jack stared at the word on the screen for uncounted moments, finger hovering over the send button, willing his body to do it. But as soon as he did, it was all broken. Mark would have to know. He'd have to know what Dark did, and Dark was sure to tell him why, and it would just be . . . done. No more smiling Mark. No more comfortable Mark. No more happy Mark.

 **Mark:** _"Can I come up?"_

Jack's heart pounded as he stared at the new words, his mouth slowly going dry, his muscles tense like he was getting ready to run. He didn't want Mark up here. He didn't want to see him. He couldn't handle it, not tonight. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was having some kind of breakdown, because he wasn't thinking about any of this logically, and every thought in his head sounded like it was from some bad teenage drama, and he was just in no state to handle this right now. He was going to say something stupid. He was going to do something stupid. He was going to upset Mark.

Maybe he just needed time. Maybe he just needed a little longer, some sleep, so he could clear his head and do this properly. Because Mark needed to know, but he didn't need to know from a hysterical weeping mess. And he deserved to get some sleep first, right? Jack . . . didn't have to tell him tonight. He could tell him in the morning, when it wouldn't be so hard for him to get a hotel room when Mark kicked him out, and when there were other people Mark could reach out to, and when there was daylight to not make the whole thing so . . . miserable.

 **Jack:** _"Nah, it's fine. I'm really tired, just wanna get some sleep. He didn't hurt me or anything, don't worry. It's all good."_

He was lying now. He hadn't meant to. He'd meant to just put it off, but what was the point if Mark was just going to be stressed about him all night? He could put his mind at ease for now, couldn't he? That wasn't so wrong?

 **Mark:** _"You sure?"_

 **Jack:** _"Yep. I'll tell ya about it in the morning, k? ;P"_

He regretted the emoji the second he hit send. That was too light. That was too much of a lie. But it had been so natural to just add it on, because he used it so much, and it just made the whole tone of the text so much more normal, and he just didn't want Mark freaking out anymore.

 **Mark:** _"Alright. Just lemme know if you need anything."_

Jack swallowed the little noise he tried to make at that, something like a whine and a sob, and shut his eyes tight, refusing to let the tears build again. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to sleep, and forget for a little while, and not feel so goddamn terrible for just a little while longer before all this had to go to shit.

 **Jack:** _"Will do. Sleep well!"_

 **Mark:** _"You too!"_

Jack set the phone face down on the sheet next to him, feeling the way his body was curling in around itself as he tried to shove away the terribleness, and just let sleep take him for now, to give him oblivion before he had to tell Mark that his demon had used his body to get his gay best friend off.

  


* * *

  


The problem with putting things off, is it never went the way you wanted it to. You didn't stop to consider the fact that if you didn't want to do something right then, you probably wouldn't want to do it an hour from now, or the next day, or next week. If you didn't want to do it right then, it was usually because you didn't want to do it at all. And often, the longer you waited, the harder it got, and the more excuses you found to put it off, until you'd hit the full procrastination zone, and it wasn't going to get done without some serious effort.

It didn't help that the next day was bright and sunny and Mark was outside playing with Chica when he first woke up, Ethan munching happily on cereal in the kitchen and greeting Jack with his usual youthful exuberance. It felt like a different world from yesterday, all bright happiness and easy conversations and just this normalness that was like a glass of water to a parched throat, and he couldn't stop himself from drinking it in, soaking it in, letting himself forget, _ignore_ , everything that had happened last night in favor of this, because it was just so much _easier_.

And then Mark had come in and suggested they all go out and meet up with Tyler and Kathryn and go do something, and Jack had latched on to the idea like a lifeline. It wasn't really fair to tell him right now anyway, was it? It'd ruin his whole day, and everything would just become about Dark and Jack, and Mark just looked so . . . happy.

He couldn't do it. Not yet. After. He'd tell him after.

Only the outing turned into an all-day affair, and "after" became dinner, and there was just never a good opportunity. By the time they got home, they were all exhausted, and Mark had this tired goofy grin on his face that Jack couldn't bear to ruin.

Tomorrow then. But even as he told himself that, even as he assured himself that he would tell Mark in the morning, as he crawled into the guest bed and snuggled up under the covers, he knew he was lying to himself.

There was never going to be a good time to tell Mark. There was never going to be a moment when it wouldn't ruin everything. And maybe . . . maybe it was better to just never say anything about it at all. Mark . . . Mark didn't exactly _need_ to know, did he? Those words tasted sour to him, but the more he thought about it, the more he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

What was the benefit of telling Mark, really? What did it do for him? It wasn't Mark's problem. It was Jack's. He was the one who was stupidly in love with a straight guy, and Dark was the one who was fixated and bored enough to fuck with him, and honestly, it'd probably never happen again. It took too much energy for him, for so little reward. It was just Dark being a douche. And Jack had managed to handle him up to this point, there was no reason he should flinch away from him just because of this. And something rang false about that, yeah, but _Mark_ , Mark needed him, he'd been so happy to find someone he could share his struggles with, and he'd been so happy to have someone who wasn't afraid of Dark, could take the shit he threw. He talked about it enough, Jack knew how he felt. Wouldn't it be selfish to ruin his happiness just for this?

The memory of Mark, smiling that sweet, grateful smile after Jack had sat in the kitchen and eaten his spaghetti with the demon, and the way he'd sounded so . . . amazed when Jack told him what happened, the way his eyes had brightened and he'd grinned at him, and thanked him in that earnest, open voice . . . Jack closed his eyes, relishing the memory, as he slipped off into sleep.

  


* * *

  


Mark asked about the incident the next day, casual and open, as the pair ate breakfast in the kitchen together. He apologized for not checking in earlier, and Jack had waved him off, easy, and reassured him in a steady voice that he could handle anything Dark dished at him. He didn't have to worry about him. He wasn't afraid of the demon.

He'd told him Dark had just been creepy, as was his way, and he'd harassed him when he tried to go to bed, and Jack watched the way Mark's eyes narrowed, careful but angry, and he knew he'd made the right decision. Mark offered to restrict him while the Irishman was here, but Jack blew it off with another wave of his hand, making an easy joke, laughing. It would take a lot of effort to try to restrict Dark. And there was no need. He wasn't a problem. He could handle him.

The grin Mark gave him, part gratitude and part wonder, made the lie all the more worth telling.

  


* * *

  


Jack sat on the couch, one arm thrown over the back, legs splayed out and head cocked to one side as his eyes followed the familiar figures on the screen. Felix and Ken, an older video he hadn't seen in a while, just on to have something on the TV as he and Mark lazed around, digesting their takeaway dinner. Mark was playing with Chica, lazy and slow, mostly just petting her and moving his hand around so she had to chase the affection, her nose shoving up under his arm with more and more insistence as he kept his little game going.

Ethan was gone, just the two of them here for the night, and Jack was enjoying the easy camaraderie they had going, chatting in bits and pieces, but mostly just enjoying each others company as they watched old YouTube videos and tried not to fall asleep on the couch. It was the kind of moments he lived for with Mark, and he drank it in with a feeling of euphoria, the tension easing from his body, leaving him loose and content and yeah, a little tired, but mostly just happy.

"You think dogs actually naturally like being pet?" Mark asked as he smooshed Chica's face between his hands, scrubbing it back and forth as she grinned a big ol' retriever grin. "Or do they just learn that that's how we show affection?"

"I dunno," Jack answered honestly, taking a quick moment to think about it before shrugging. "Guess it doesn't matter, since they like it either way."

"Yeah, it's like, it doesn't matter if it's because it feels good or if they know we're lovin' on them, 'cause either way, they're happy."

"Hmmm." It wasn't a dismissive sound. More content, just letting him know he was still listening. Mark kept talking.

"'cause dogs that haven't been loved on before usually won't let you touch them like this, but that's just because they don't trust you. So it's hard to tell. Is it a conditioned thing, like we teach them to feel good from it, or is it just naturally a good feeling? And if we condition it, then do some dogs only like certain types of petting? Like, they had to grow up with a certain kind of affection to like that kind of affection? Or is it just universal touching is great?"

Jack turned to face him, a bemused smile on his lips as he watched the man sitting on the other side of the couch, holding his dog's face in his hands, and getting closer and closer to booping her on the nose with his own.

God, he was so fucking cute.

"Yeh feelin' philosophical over there?"

Mark grinned, releasing his grip on the canine as he turned to look at his guest with narrowed eyes.

"Hey, I'm sleepy, I think of weird shit when I'm tired."

"Go teh bed then, yeh doof," Jack told him, and hoped he wouldn't, because he wasn't ready to be alone yet tonight. It'd been three days since the incident with Dark, and he was finally feeling normal again.

"Nah, not yet," the American said with a yawn, his hands coming up to stretch over his head, and Jack did his best not to look at the line of exposed skin along his waist, ignoring the way his own skin prickled in pleasure at the sight. "I'm'a just . . . snooze on the couch for a bit."

Jack did his best to keep his smile to amused rather than a touch too fond. "Yeh can't sleep on the couch, Mark. It's bad for yer back, and besides, _I'm_ not goin' teh bed yet."

"The hell I can't," Mark shot back, but it was all false bravado and goofy confidence. "It's _my_ couch."

"And it's _my_ butt still sittin' here, so nap in the chair or go teh bed."

"No. I'm gonna-" and then he was standing, grabbing one of the big throw pillows and tossing it sloppily into Jack's lap. "-sleep right here."

And then he flopped down onto his back, draping himself across the length of the couch, his shoulders coming to rest on the pillow in Jack's lap, his neck turned up to rest his head on the soft couch arm, and he turned his head with a little contented noise to keep watching the TV.

"Oof!" Jack complained, the sudden weight in his lap jarring, and he shoved at the man with a smart laugh. "Ge' off me, yeh smelly-"

"Nope. My couch."

"Mark, I'm not yer damn pillow-"

"You are right now, now shut up, I'm trying to watch."

"You . . ." But he couldn't find anything else to say. It wasn't like he actually _wanted_ Mark to move. His weight felt nice against him, and he was sleepy, the warmth of another body next to him, on him, just making him sink further into the couch, and he let out a little sigh, part exasperation, part happiness.

Mark was . . . oblivious. But it wasn't so bad. It made for some nice moments. Little tastes of what it'd be like. Which were sweet, but also . . . well, they were bittersweet, duh, there was an entire word for it in the English language. Nice but painful. A peek at what it could be like even though he knew it would never happen.

The sound of Mark's voice, whispering things into his ear as his hands did wicked things, flashed through his mind, and he shoved it away harshly, leaving no room for the memory in this moment. He just wanted to enjoy it, for the little time he had, and he didn't need a guilty boner ruining this.

After a few minutes, Jack let his head fall back on the couch behind him, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling without actually seeing it. His heart, which had raced when Mark first laid across him, was starting to slow, his exhaustion starting to catch up with him, and he wondered if he was going to end up sleeping on this goddamn sofa too. They were both going to be sore and cranky in the morning if that were the case.

He was almost gone, his lids slipping close across blue eyes as he drifted towards oblivion, when he felt the brush of fingers across his shoulder.

He froze, his eyes snapping open to look up at the fan above him. He could feel the body in his lap shifting his weight so he could reach farther, the hand drifting up to trail a line up his neck, along his jaw, pressing back to card delicately through the hair on the back of his neck, really only barely touching him, but it felt like every touch was scorching across his skin.

What the fuck? Why was Mark touching him like that? Almost petting him, gentle and careful, like he was exploring him. It felt so . . . alien. And nice. And he had no idea why he was doing it, because that didn't feel like a friendly gesture, and the laying in his lap thing was already more than he'd expected, and-"

Jack glanced down, his brow furrowed, mouth open to ask the question on his tongue, only to freeze as the icy fear washed over him again.

"He really is cruel, isn't he?" Dark asked, and Jack felt like he was suffocating, all the air ripped out of his lungs as he looked down at the creature laid across his lap, relaxed, content, a lazy smile on his face. He didn't look like the demon right then, only his black, glinting eyes, and that unmistakable aura of _Dark_ , and it took everything in Jack not to bolt right then.

He was trapped. Again. He could feel his heart crashing against his ribs, panicked, as he took in the moment before him, and Dark's smile curled up just a fraction higher.

"Poor Jackaboy" the demon crooned softly, and Jack felt color seeping into his face, felt the overwhelming urge to look away, anywhere but at those soulless black pits, with the red flare, peering up at him. "In love with the biggest tease this world has ever seen."

"What do you want?"

Jack's voice was quiet when he asked, but steady. Steady like he'd been every time before. Not by his own volition, but simply because that's what his voice did when he was around Dark. And it was still too light, still too weightless, but the fact that it wasn't a broken mess was honestly incredible.

"I wanted to check in on you," the creature told him, and his smile broadened, curving up in a wicked line as he watched the Irishman's face, black eyes tracing every line he saw. Jack flinched as he felt the fingers in his hair shift - he hadn't realized they were still there - and he pulled away slowly, trying to disengage the hand from the back of his neck.

"Go away, Dark." And his voice was a whisper, weak and broken, and he hoped he wouldn't have to raise it, because he was so tired, and it had nothing to do with sleep.

"Ah, _Jack_ ," he crooned, murmuring the name so sweet and low, and Jack couldn't help the shiver that ran through him, or the way his chest tightened, in fear and in something else, and he wanted to shove him out of his lap, into the coffee table, _away from him_. "That's not very nice. I just want to help."

Every one of his words was like thick honey, dark and sticky, drawing him in despite all the obvious warning signs, and he had to grit his teeth and look away, feeling the fingers at his neck again as he pulled away, leaned as far as he could from him, looking over to where Chica lay in her little bed.

Did she realize her owner wasn't here right now?

"I don't need yer help," Jack told him, and he managed a fairly biting tone, clipped, though he didn't really have the energy to put much viciousness behind it. "I didn't ask for it. Go away."

"Really?" And there was an inflection to that word that had Jack glancing back, brow furrowed, mouth open to reiterate, to tell him to get off him, to _make_ him go away.

But before he could say anything, Dark was already sitting up, his movements unnaturally fast, jarring, wrong, and Jack barely had time to think before the creature caught his wrists and twisted him harshly, iron grip impossible to break as he flipped them around and pinned Jack beneath him.

The breath went out of Jack in a rush, and he could feel how wide his eyes were, how hard his heart was pounding, how his whole body was thrumming with fear and excitement and anger, and how _he wanted him off_ even as he fought the urge to crane his back up into his touch.

"You're thirstier than a bitch in heat," Dark told him through bared teeth, his eyes narrowed and knowing, and he moved with ease to trap the Irishman's wrists in one hand above his head, the other coming down to press into the cushions between Jack's waist and the back of the couch. "You're touch-starved and pining, and you're stuck with someone who can't, _won't_ , help you."

Jack could feel the shame flushing hot across his cheeks, mingling with the anger, the indignation, and he pressed hard against the hand at his wrists, baring his teeth in turn at the creature. If he had a free hand just then, he'd scratch. He'd hit, he'd bruise, he'd do anything to get this fucker off of him, because he wasn't here to be his _toy_.

"You're in need," Dark continued, and his voice was getting lower, softer, almost imploring, the dangerous edge mixing with something that sounded dangerously soothing. "And I can provide."

"I don't need your help," Jack told him. He'd meant to spit the words, but they came out in a breathless rush, tired and scared, and fighting his body's own traitorous feelings as he felt the warmth of the man's arm pressed into bare skin where his shirt had slipped up.

"Really?" There was amusement in his voice as he shifted to slip one hand under his shirt, running it delicately across the bare skin of his stomach, up across his ribs, before coming down to trail through the hair running down from his navel. "You're fine with this? Just sitting here, a horny mess every day, while Mark treats you like his favorite plaything?"

"He d-doesn't- ah!" Jack tried to disagree, but the hand had moved to press against his hip, holding him down as the form above him slipped effortlessly in between his legs, and Jack could feel himself stirring, despite how sure he was that he _didn't want this_.

"He does," Dark assured him, leaning down to murmur the words so close to his face, and Jack had to close his eyes to block out those burning black pools. "He touches without the slightest concern for what it does to you. He teases, without even thinking he might be wrecking you. You're his friend, yet he couldn't even tell you were upset - he waited an _entire day_ before he thought to ask you, and he let you off with your weak story, because he'd rather you be his happy, fun Irish friend than a human being, with feelings and wants and needs."

"Yer wrong," Jack whined, and he was sure of that as he shut his eyes tighter. Dark was wrong. He was lying. He was manipulating him. Mark cared, he was a good friend, it was Jack's fault for never telling him. He'd lied, he couldn't blame Mark for not realizing what he did. But even still, his chest ached as he thought of the way Mark touched, without a care in the world, and teased, and just provided the perfect fodder for the lovestruck Irishman, without ever knowing what he was doing. And it was unfair, for both of them, but Jack didn't hate him for it. He never could.

"I don't want your heart, little lamb," Dark crooned into his ear, and Jack could feel his breath washing over his neck, the delicate skin of his ear, spreading goosebumps like wildfire. And then he settled in further in between his thighs, and rocked up, pressing against Jack's hardening length with a suspiciously hot mass of his own, and Jack couldn't help but gasp, a little groan following as he felt him press against him.

He . . . that was Mark's . . .

"I just want to see your pretty face twisted up while I give you what you need."

This was wrong. Again. He was right back where he'd started, under Dark as he turned him into this writhing mess of hormones, and Jack wasn't ready for this, wasn't prepared to fight him the way he needed to, didn't have the energy to throw his weight against him and deny his body what it so desperately wanted.

That was Mark's hand. Mark's fingers. Mark's . . . voice. He wanted to drown in it, just keep his eyes shut tight and let himself bask in the experience, in his touch, in the feeling of being _wanted_.

But he wasn't some teenager that was ruled by his body. And he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. And he was _so tired_ , but he couldn't just let this happen again, couldn't just be a passive bystander in this act once more.

Jack forced his eyes open, forced himself to look up at the inky pools above him, the red glint shining off the demon's eyes as he watched him. Close, so close, close enough to brush his lips against his own, and Jack felt the way his body wanted to press up, just close the distance and feel warmth against his skin, and satisfy the terrible itch he'd had for so long. Instead, he simply steeled his eyes, and steadied his voice.

"Dark . . . stop." His voice was wrecked, but not as bad as before. He was breathing hard, and there was longing in his voice, despite how hard he tried to mask it. But the words themselves were firm, and the demon paused, slowing his hand, turning his head just slightly as he gazed down at him. "I don't want this."

Dark leaned down closer, and brushed his lips so faintly across Jack's cheek, just shy of his own lips, and he could feel the little smile he was wearing.

"You're sure about that?" he asked, and his voice was full of amusement, rumbled mirth, and Jack felt himself shudder, body aching, even as he answered in a whisper.

"Yes."

For a moment, Jack was so sure he was going to press on anyways, just lean down and take the kiss he'd been teasing at, wipe all coherant thought from Jack's mind with another searing makeout and take whatever he wanted.

But he didn't. Instead, he looked down at him, expression unreadable, breath still, before finally pulling away from the younger man.

"Well then."

And Jack was too surprised to move as he released his hands, laying limp across the couch as he watched the demon rise, untangling the pair and reaching out to shove Jack back into a sitting position, back to where he'd been before.

"You tell me when you change your mind," Dark crooned as he reached down to catch the discarded pillow between his fingers, flicking it back into Jack's lap, covering the shameful tent to his pants and grinning at him with those smiling eyes.

Jack looked on wordlessly as the creature reclaimed his earlier position, draping himself across his lap as Mark had, letting out a sigh of contentment as he turned his head back towards the TV. Was . . . was that really it? Was he not going to just because Jack asked him not to? Was it really that easy?

He could see the evidence of the demon's arousal - he wasn't even trying to hide it as he lounged across the Irishman - but he made no further move to touch him, just watched the figures on screen as they whooped and hollered at each other, and Jack felt a strange sense of lostness, unsure what to do now.

He hadn't expected him to stop. His body was still throbbing desperately at the idea of what those hands and hips had promised, and his heart was still hammering away in his chest with the fear and anger, but he was just left with . . . nothing. Just normalness. Nothing to fight or grind against. And for a moment, he wasn't sure which was worse.

"I'll see you soon, pet," Dark murmured, his voice low and rolling and full of promises, and Jack shivered at the sound, his eyes dancing down to watch as the demon closed those black eyes, erasing the crimson glint from the world, and slipping away, back to that dark quiet place he stayed.

And Jack was left with a sleeping Mark in his lap, his erection painfully crushed against his weight through the pillow, and doing his best not to think about uncomfortable bulge in Mark's own pants as he lay with him, completely oblivious to the previous events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, and it's mostly not smut, whaaaaaaaaaaat? It's like I'm incapable of writing PWP, jesus. I need to stop, I'm going to end up juggling way to many longfics D:
> 
> But I'm also really loving this, soooo . . . ?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk/pseuds/tfwfangirlsatk) for being my lovely beta.

"Jack, think fast!"

Jack's hands came up before he'd even processed the words, a conditioned response to staying with a group of rowdy boys for the last week, and he just managed to block the big rubber ball before it crashed into his chest, instead bouncing away to knock a lamp over with a suspiciously loud crash.

"Oh shit."

"Fuckin'- good morning to yeh too," Jack bit out between weary giggles as he watched Mark dart around the sofa to check the damage, scrubbing at the sleep in his eyes. Tyler's laugh was booming from across the room, and Jack took a moment to take in the scene before him - Tyler and Ethan standing in the doorway to the kitchen, the taller holding a gray cousin to the black exercise ball Mark had pelted at him while the blue-haired kid doubled over while holding his phone, obviously recording the early-morning stupidity. Mark was bent over, hard to see from his current position, and he could hear his muffled laughter and short curses.

"Did you break it?" Ethan called, and Mark came back up, holding the surprisingly intact lamp with a chagrined smile.

"No, no, it's, uh . . . it's fine. Morning, Jack," he added, his grin broadening as he set the lamp back in its proper place and reaching out to scoop the black ball back into his arms. "There's coffee in the kitchen."

"I'll take that as an apology," Jack laughed, turning to pick his way through the messy living room, Ethan stepping aside to let him past into the spacious kitchen. He could hear Mark saying something behind him, a little muffled, and Ethan's bubbly laughter - bouncy and full of energy, even this early in the morning - and a sleepy smile crept up his face as he made his way over to the cabinet to fetch himself a mug.

It was loud here, so much more raucous than his quiet apartment back in Brighton. But he didn't mind it, didn't mind the noise and the energy and the bright joy that seemed to permeate the walls of this place. This was Mark's house, and it was a little crazy, but it smelled like coffee and looked like summer and tasted like friendship, and Jack wouldn't trade its particular flavor for anything.

Even if the shadows had a hint of dark spice.

"You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn door," Ethan's voice called out, echoing around the marble counters as Jack opened the cabinet door, reaching for one of the big chocolate mugs on the top shelf.

"What? Broad side of a barn _door?_ " Tyler asked, his voice picking up in incredulity, and Jack peeked over his shoulder to watch the trio enter the kitchen. Mark was looking down at his phone, the big ball nowhere to be seen, and Tyler was looking at Ethan with his lips pressed together, like he was trying not to laugh.

"Yeah. That's a saying, isn't it? Couldn't hit the broad side of a barn door?"

"No, it's just 'couldn't hit the broad side of a barn'."

"Really?"

"Yeah, why would you need to specify the 'broad' side of a barn door. What else are you going to hit?"

"I thought that was the point. Like, you'd be pretty skilled to hit the narrow side of a barn door, wouldn't you?"

"What? No, that's . . ."

Jack let the voices fade to background noise as he made his way over to the coffee machine, taking a deep breath of the rich scent and smiling to himself as he reached for the steaming pot. Mark wasn't much of a coffee drinker himself, he'd admitted a long time ago. But there was always a hot pot ready in the morning whenever the Irishman was visiting, and he knew Mark did it for him and his caffeine addiction. He was so sweet in some ways. And such an ass in others. Like greeting his friend with a ball to the face first thing in the morning.

God, why did he love that idiot?

"Tyler's right," Mark's voice piped up, and Jack jumped at how close it sounded, just behind him, and he turned just in time to see the American opening the fridge next to him. "It's just 'broad side of a barn'."

"Maybe it's like a regional thing," Ethan offered, not quite sounding defensive. "Different places say it differently."

"It's not a regional thing," Tyler laughed. "You're just stupid."

Mark was laughing too, chuckling under his breath as he grabbed the orange juice and set it on the counter next to Jack, before reaching around him for the cabinet with the glasses. Jack closed his eyes, resisting the urge to lean back into the warmth of his arm, and let himself smile as he poured coffee into his oversized mug.

To his credit, he didn't spill any, even when that cold voice purred right into his ear.

"Good morning, Jack."

It was surprising how different Dark's voice sounded from Mark's. It was the same voice, or it should have been. It came from the same vocal cords. But he drew out his words differently, cut his consonants all wrong, stretched and clipped his vowels. It was like he was growling them, pressing them out between bared teeth, tongue lashing each word with care, nothing flippant or spit out without thought. Mark's voice was all easy, rolling, laughing sounds, falling from his lips with blissful frivolity. But Dark was passion, hunger, rage, and even in those three words Jack could hear the difference clear as day.

"Morning Dark," he muttered back, so low he could hardly hear himself, but he knew the creature caught it from his low rumble before it was Mark again, pouring himself orange juice, and laughing as Ethan and Tyler's argument escalated into playful shoving.

Jack squeezed the pot in his hand harder, willing the tremble from his fingers as he set it back in its cradle and reached for the sugar. The memories were still so fresh in his mind, just his voice, his proximity, was enough to wreck him, and no longer from the fear. Now his heart was racing for entirely different reasons, and Jack swallowed the unwanted feelings as he turned back to his noisy company, stirring his coffee and grinning at the idiots he called friends.

He was just going to keep treating Dark as he had before - as a nuisance. An unwanted addition to their friendly circle, and one he put up with out of necessity. That was it. That's all he was. He had two days left on this trip and he wasn't going to waste them on worrying about that _creature_.

So long as he kept to his word, and didn't try . . . _that_ again, there wouldn't be a problem.

He could keep enjoying his time with his friends. He could keep Mark happy. Everything would be fine.

That's all he wanted, after all.

  


* * *

  


Jack felt like his skin was on fire.

He was tucked into the corner of the couch, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the TV, not actually understanding the words the characters were speaking, but following their every movement with rapt attention. He could hear Tyler's soft snores from his chair, the large male having finally slipped off a few minutes before, and Ethan had been out for an hour now, curled up on the other side of the sofa with his arms wrapped around one of the big throw pillows.

It was late. Very late, though Jack didn't know the exact time. They should have all been in bed hours ago, but there was a Marvel movie marathon on, and they'd been determined to get through _Age of Ultron_ at least. But now _Civil War_ was starting, and it was just Jack and Mark still fighting sleep.

Or rather, Jack and Dark, as it were.

He could feel his black eyes on him, sitting back in the center of the couch, one arm thrown over the back, behind Jack, ankle resting on his other knee. His head was turned just slightly, and he wasn't speaking. Just watching him. Which should have been familiar by this point, it was a common habit of the creature's, but now Jack couldn't stop the shivers that pricked at his skin under that gaze, couldn't stop the flashes of memory, of his purring voice and burning eyes and hungry touches, and he had to swallow the sick, needy feeling rising in his chest.

Was he really so desperate for attention, for affection, that he was craving it from a demon?

Silence stretched between them, not the comfortable silence from before between him and Mark, when they were just watching the movie and enjoying the general company. Now there was an expectation, a communication happening between the two that Jack couldn't ignore, no matter how he tried, and he could feel the frantic energy building in his chest, his heart fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage, desperate to escape from the pressure building around him.

_"What?"_ Jack finally hissed, low so as not to bother their sleeping companions, and turned sharp eyes to the flickering creature.

He wasn't bothering to cover his more demonic features tonight. Gray and dark and cold, lips pulled up in a broken version of Mark's crooked smile, and the red shine in his eyes was bright in the dim room. He didn't feel as . . . bad as he did sometimes. At least Jack didn't feel like he was going to be pulled into some endless void, like death, though he could still feel the familiar tug the creature always seemed to create, deep in his gut. Like barbs twisted up in his intestines.

Dark twisted his head to the side, the motion too . . . twitchy to be normal, and looked him over with smiling eyes, like he was laughing at a joke only he was privy to. But he didn't answer, just smiled, all dark and wrong, and Jack jerked his gaze away, turning back to the TV, trying to immerse himself into the movie again. He liked this one, he really did. He just couldn't remember why just then.

He could hear the hand behind him shifting, moving in some way, and he tensed, waiting for the touch, the hair on his nape standing up in unease and excitement alike. He was close, he could feel it, but he refused to acknowledge him, refused to look at him, refused to admit he was bothered by the proximity of those fingers. He was just going to watch his movie. Just . . . watch and enjoy and Dark would go away, and Mark would be back and maybe then they could all just go to bed.

To his surprise, the touch never came. He could feel where the couch cushion was pushed in behind him, the weight of the hand moving it just so, showing him how _close_ it really was, just inches from his neck. But he wasn't quite touching him. He was just . . . there.

Why was that so frustrating?

Jack huffed, leaning forward and pulling his knees up in front of him, resting his arms across them and setting his chin on top of that. His back was barely touching the couch now, and he felt a bit of the tension ease out of him as he escaped from that eerie pull.

A beat of silence passed, and then Dark laughed, a hushed rumble that sent shivers down Jack's spine, and he cut his eyes to him, watching his lips pull back to flash a giddy smile, teeth glinting behind thin lips.

"Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Jack muttered, that odd irritation still fluttering in his chest, and he tried to push it away, shuffling his feet a little to find better purchase, fingers gripping tighter into his jeans and jaw set in determination. Just watch. Enjoy. Dark'll get bored. Mark'll come back. It's fine-

Jack gasped, fingers jumping across his jeans as his back arched into the sudden feeling of fingers trailing up his spine. Electricity shot through him, fear and surprise and something else, and he whipped around to look at the demon with hot eyes.

He was smiling at him still, all pretty grins and glinting eyes and mock warmth, and Jack wanted to punch that smug look off his too-attractive face.

"What the fuck yeh think yer doin'?" His voice cracked, because of course it did. But it was cold enough, and he could feel Dark pulling his hand away with that little smirk.

"You're so _hungry_ for it," he said, wicked and low, Mark's voice but Dark's words, and Jack couldn't stop the shiver as it ran through him once more. The hand had pulled away from his back, but it was reaching around now, near his face, teasing at his messy bangs, and his body warred with him, desperate for the touch and desperate to get away from him, and he froze, stuck between the feelings, angry and confused and lost.

Dark's fingers carded carefully through the green tendrils, light pressure against the side of his head, warmth spreading from the cold touches, gooseflesh pricking across his scalp.

"You crave it. You need it. You'd feel so much better if you just _let me in_."

"No." The word whispered between numb lips, but he couldn't tell if he was talking to Dark or himself. Dark's hand was cold, odd against his face, and he could almost feel the color pulled from his skin at the contact. And even still he wanted to press into it, wanted more, wanted him to chase away the terrible ache that had filled him for so long.

But then Dark was pulling away again, hand going back to the back of the couch, smile crooked and broken as he shook his head.

"If you say so," he purred. And then he was gone again, Mark's smile healed and whole once more as he looked him over, a touch of concern creeping in as he cocked his head in a warm mockery of Dark's earlier expression.

"All good?" he asked in a hushed voice, and Jack smiled, easy over the pain as he let his legs fall back to dangle over the couch again, leaning back in a tired slump.

"All good." He whispered back, and felt that familiar warmth bubble in his chest as Mark reached around to squeeze his shoulder, quick and warm, before turning back to the movie.

"Just lemme know when it's not."

"I will Mark."

It didn't even feel like a lie anymore.

  


* * *

  


"Get out, Dark."

At least he'd had time to get his pajamas on this time before the demon came sauntering into his room, the house eerily quiet with the other inhabitants sleeping. And he was just watching, that damn broken smile and dark eyes glinting as they followed his actions around the room, and Jack felt like he was being hunted. Like he was just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce, and take his victory over his prey.

"Why do you fight it?"

"I'm not playin' yer games, Dark. I'm tired. I wanna go teh bed."

"You wouldn't be so tired if you weren't so . . . _stressed_."

"Dark. Get out of my room."

" _My_ room," Dark purred, and he shoved away from the door frame, taking slow, predatory steps into the room with a sharp grin.

" _Mark's_ room," Jack corrected, with more bravado than he actually felt. He was determined not to get herded into the bed this time, and he found himself actually taking a step forward, closer to the flickering creature and baring his teeth.

"Which makes it mine. Everything of his is mine."

"No, it's not," Jack spit, taking another step forward, and watching as the demon slowed, watching him with bright black eyes. He was only a few feet away now, a few paces off, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do when he actually got to him. He just knew he didn't want to run.

"Gonna fight me, _Jack?_ " The way he said his name sent gooseflesh across his arms, and he resisted the urge to shudder, to let that voice wash through him again. "Gonna _make_ me leave?"

"I'm gonna tell yeh teh," he said, and his voice was soft as he got closer, close enough to touch him now if he wanted, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he had to do something. "And yer gonna obey me."

" _Obey you._ "

His voice curled around the words with such _pleasure_ , and Jack couldn't stop the shudder now, a little noise choked in his throat as he watched his eyes light up, excited, pleased, hungry. He was stepping forward again, herding him not towards the bed, but towards the wall, and Jack fell back against it with little fight, just watching the creature prowl towards him like it was an inevitability.

"I'll obey you, kitten," he purred softly, and Jack watched his hands raise, careful, slow, like he didn't want to scare him, and he followed their journey towards his face. Part of him knew he needed to stop him, but it was so hard, it was _so hard_ , and he was so empty, craving the touch, even if it was from _him_. "I'll obey you, I'll give you what you need. Just let me in, and I can make you feel _so much better_."

"Dark . . ." His voice was so broken. He was losing, he knew, and he needed to make him leave _now_ , because he couldn't keep fighting him like this. Not when he wanted what he was offering so much. Not when every fiber in his body was screaming for it.

"Just look," he crooned, soft, gentle, as he brought his hands forward, fingers trailing delicately along his cheeks, pressing carefully back to card through his hair. And then he was putting real pressure behind it, running his hands through his messy green hair, just touching, and Jack couldn't help the little whine that escaped his lips, because it felt _good_ , so good, exactly what he wanted, and it was Mark's face above him, flickering and gray but Mark, and Mark's big hands in his hair, and he wanted to cry at how right it felt.

"Just look . . . at how nice that feels. Look at how much you need it. Look at what I can do for you."

Jack was shaking, his body aching, his head swimming with his voice and his smell and his touch, and he couldn't pull the words he needed together, couldn't find the fight he needed.

"I won't hurt you, little lamb. I can give you . . . _everything_ . . . you need . . ."

He closed his eyes for a moment, just taking in the feeling, just experiencing it. Dark hadn't changed, hadn't chased the flickering frame with his faux Mark, and Jack could still feel that cold pull within him. But it couldn't overpower the pleasure of the touch, couldn't wash away how much his body craved it, even when he knew it wasn't Mark, when he knew it was a demon, knew it was wrong.

It felt so good, just this simple touch, and he was terrified of what that could mean, what it could be like if he gave in, if he gave himself up to the creature. He wouldn't hurt him, he'd said that, Mark had said that, but there were different kinds of hurt, and Jack could feel his heart aching, _breaking_ , in his chest even now.

He wouldn't hurt his body. But his body wasn't the only thing he had to worry about.

Blue eyes opened and fixed back on the fervid, flickering face, and he whispered around his hoarse voice.

"I don't want _you_."

But Dark only smiled, red glint alight in his bright eyes, and he growled low in his throat.

"I can change that."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back with some of that delicious angst y'all ;)
> 
> Beta'd to the tune of [It's All Your Fault by P!nk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5sVwIndJ-c) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk).

"Don't be like that, baby."

The voice was low, rough, and Jack's toes curled deliciously at the sound, lips parting as he took a shaky breath and resisted the urge to groan, even as that warmth was pooling in his gut.

Fucking Mark Fischbach. He was using that low, growling voice, head tipped forward so he could glare with dark eyes under dark lashes, and his lips were pulled up in a lopsided smirk, and Jack wished so bad, _so bad_ , that he was staring at him instead of the stupid game.

He'd been talking to him at least. And that was enough to have a flush creeping up Jack's face, despite how bad he fought it, and he could only hope that the camera wouldn't be able to pick it up from this distance. That's all he needed now - renewed Septiplier shippers vomiting their squealing, torturous, fangirling _mess_ all over his Tumblr and Twitter and videos, where he would have to look at it every day, and answer it, and watch with an aching heart as Mark would inevitably keep the joke going.

Because that's all it was to Mark. A joke. And he was nothing if not a fucking tease.

They were playing a game, some new indie thing that actually had local multiplayer - a rare thing to see these days - and Mark had insisted they make a video with it. Which led to them now, sitting on the couch, crammed together to stay in shot of the camera, Mark gloating with sadistic joy as he crushed Jack once more, and Jack was having more and more trouble handling the commentary he had opted to give.

Mark had a problem. He often didn't think about what he said when he was rambling for collab videos, and that usually ended up pushing his dialogue into one of two directions - either he got ridiculously goofy, using stupid voices and big guffaws and just speaking meaningless phrases to fill the space. _Or_ , he turned into a massive tease, coy and joking and flirty, especially with Jack. It was no wonder Septiplier had grown the way it had. And of course, Mark had to be in the latter mood as he crushed the Irishman in this game, sitting so very close, leg pressed against his, warmth pouring off him in waves, as he purred terrible innuendos right to the camera.

"Come here, baby boy. Daddy _wants_ you."

Jack swallowed again, and rolled his eyes for the camera, giving a perfunctory "Oh, god," in response. Mark was crude, could be so much worse than this in what he said, but it was this kind of thing that wrecked him. The way he'd pitch his voice just right, speak low into the mic, give the camera those fuck-me eyes. He couldn't quite do the same here, without his usual setup, but every word just made him think of past experiences, and he could see the expression he was wearing out of the corner of his eye, actually _feel_ his warmth against his leg.

It wasn't fair.

He couldn't just ignore it. He _wanted_ to. He wanted to stay silent, or force him into a different subject, or even _tell_ him to stop. But he couldn't just then. They were recording, and Jack had to keep the energy up, keep the interesting dialogue going, keep it entertaining for the viewers. And this was part of Mark's entertainment value. His fans loved it, and they loved it when he harassed Jack, and Jack was well and truly stuck.

It wasn't like he could tell him _why_ it bothered him anyways, so . . .

"Daddy's gonna getchya."

"Oh no, not _Daddy_ ," Jack answered in the best mocking tone, rolling his eyes and smirking like it was the stupidest thing Mark had ever said. It was the only defense he had, the only shield he could hide behind, when he was stuck one-on-one with Mark, with no one else to pull him away from it.

Like on the stupid _The Forest_ playthrough. That had been a fucking disaster and half. Nothing but innuendos and flirting, and while he'd been able to handle it better back then, the words still haunted him to this day.

"God, what is the actual appeal of 'Daddy'?"

Okay, well they'd gotten away from the innuendos for a moment. But Jack wasn't entirely sure he liked this any better.

"I don't fuckin' know."

"I guess it's just like a . . . older guy thing?"

"I guess?"

"But like . . . why _Daddy?_ "

"I don't know!"

"Really?"

"What, yes, why would I know?"

"Well, I mean . . . you seem to say it in a lot of fanfictions."

No. No, no, no, _no. Don't do this, Mark, don't you fucking dare, don't you fucking dare do this to me on camera, not right now, don't you fucking dare._

"Oh god, no, don't tell me."

"What, you haven't looked recently?"

_No._

"God, no, Mark, I don't read fanfiction."

"I mean, they get pretty creative."

_Please._

"Why are you reading fanfiction?" He was trying to joke. Trying to be mean, playfully mean, tease and all that shit, but his voice was just a little too tight. He needed to relax. He needed to not blush. He needed to not feed the fucking fans, not now, because Mark was just going to pick up on it and keep going.

"What, you never just look? I get asked all the time in my comments videos, so I check from time to time." The round was over, and they were on the loading screen, waiting to get back to the menu to start a new game, and Jack had nothing else to pay attention to as Mark turned to look at him, with that little half-smile he wore when he knew he was fucking with him. "Don't yours?"

"Nah, I ask my fans not to bring that into my stuff."

"I'll have to send you some. They've got this one where-"

"Mark, what the hell?" He laughed around the words, but he felt like he was choking. This was _way_ farther than Mark usually took it, and he didn't know what had spurred it, but he didn't want him to keep talking. He wanted him to shut up, just shut up, _shut up_. "Why the fuck would I want to know about us fucking?"

Mark laughed, and it sounded almost . . . cruel to his ears. He didn't mean it that way. He knew that. But it still sounded so harsh.

"Oh god, it's not just fucking, dude. It's . . . it's so much worse. Like . . . the gayness is off the fucking charts." They were back on the main menu, and Jack had already selected his character, blindly, not caring what he was doing, just wanting the next round to fucking start already. But Mark was just sitting there, staring at him as Jack ignored his gaze, and tried not to blush, tried not to _scream_. He just had to get through this. Don't snap, don't bring the mood down. Joke. Get through it. They'd been playing long enough that Mark would probably end it fairly soon, and he just needed to get through that without being a mood-killer, because then they couldn't use the video-

Oh god. But . . . the video. Mark would post this. He was going to post him harassing Jack about fucking fanfiction, and Jack was probably blushing despite his best efforts, and it was going to kick everything back up again, and maybe it was best to just end it now. Losing the video would _suck_ , because he wanted as much content with Mark as he could get, and Mark would be upset about it, and he just wanted the man to be happy goddamnit, but he couldn't do this, he couldn't, he couldn't-

"Like, there's gayness and, like, sex and shit, but then there's, like, the ones where we're just this stupid sweet couple thing where we get married and have fucking kids and shit, and it's so gross, dude."

Gross.

_Gross._

The idea of living some stupid idyllic life with Jack was _gross_.

"Oh, shit, that was . . . whoops, alright, guess I fucked that recording." Mark's mouth twisted up as he turned back towards the camera, annoyance suddenly clouding his face. Mark was particular about being PC. He didn't want to offend anyone. Hurt anyone. Bother anyone with some of the stupid shit he said without thinking, because he had _no_ filter.

Anyone but Jack it seemed.

He didn't even look at him. He was just glaring at the stupid fucking TV like it was somehow the game's fault that he'd opened his stupid fucking mouth and said something like that. And Jack wanted to punch him. He'd never wanted to punch him like this before, but he wanted to punch him, snap his head back with the force of his goddamn fist and scream at him. Tell him how much of an _asshole_ he was. Tell him how much he hated him just then, even though it would still be a lie, because even now, as his entire heart seemed to be shredding apart in his chest, he loved him. He loved him so much he couldn't fucking stand himself, and Mark thought he was _gross_.

Jack had never been good at lying. Except to Mark. Except about this. He could lie like a goddamn dream about this to Mark. He was so practiced with it, so comfortable, like putting on a special mask just for him, because he loved him, because he didn't want to hurt him, and even with his heart in tatters, even with every cell in his body swelling with this aching, screaming heartache, he could put that mask on, and turn to him with neutral eyes and a tired smirk.

"Okay, no, seriously, that's not what I meant."

"Uh huh," Jack said, and his voice was just the right amount of unamused, tinged with a hint of amusement. Like he was making fun of him, chastising him, instead of breaking apart at his stupid careless words.

"I didn't mean, like, gayness is gross."

"Uh huh."

"I meant like . . . fanfiction is gross."

"Uh huh."

"Or, like . . . that kind of fanfiction."

"Uh huh."

"And people like, writing about our feelings like they know shit."

"Uh huh."

"Jack, I swear to god, if you say 'uh huh' one mo-"

"Uh huh."

"You little-"

Mark tossed his controller and lept at him, hands outstretched, reaching for his sides to tickle him, and Jack flung his controller, lips pulling back in an automatic giggle, fleeing across the couch as he slapped at him, gritting his teeth as he grinned and laughed and fought with Mark until he was laughing too. Until Mark felt like he was forgiven. Until Mark was happy.

That's all he wanted, after all.

Why was that so hard? Why did he have to break his goddamn soul to make it happen? Why couldn't anything just be _easy_ for once? Why did _everything_ have to hurt like this?

Why did he have to love him?

"God, I got to think shit out before I say it," Mark said after a moment, sounding tired but not unhappy. "I completely fucked that recording."

"Eh, we might could edit it. Play a bit more and just cut that part out."

"Nah, I don't think I left a good breakpoint in there. We'd have to go back too far. Might as well just scrap it and maybe try again later."

"I've got teh leave tomorrow morning."

"I know . . . I don't know, did you like playing it?"

Jack honestly couldn't remember anything about the game, so he just shrugged noncommittally. "Eh. Not enough teh put much effort back in it."

"Yeah. Ah well." Mark stood and stretched, and Jack didn't bother turning to see that familiar stripe of skin under his shirt. His heart was already so sore, he didn't need to add anything just then. "Wanna watch some TV or something?"

"Sure."

How did he sound so . . . happy? How did he lie so well to Mark, and only Mark? He couldn't even lie to Dark, and that was the same goddamn face. It should have been the same thing.

Dark . . . 

Why did thinking of Dark right now hurt too?

He didn't care about Dark. Dark was nothing but a goddamn nuisance in his life with Mark, one he put up with because he loved Mark. Even though he was oblivious. Even though he hurt him. Even though the idea of Jack's infatuation was _gross_.

Dark didn't think he was gross.

Jack shied away from that thought like a nervous horse from a gunshot. No. Not Dark. He was _not_ going to do this. He was not going to let his neediness lead him into the arms of a fucking demon. Dark was not human, Dark was not good, Dark was not capable of love. Dark _was not Mark_.

But maybe . . . he didn't want Mark right now. Maybe he didn't want someone who thought he was gross. Maybe he wanted someone who looked at him like he was . . . _something_ , who touched him like he wanted him, who touched him like it wasn't disgusting, and Jack's chest was clenching so tightly he was worried he might be having some kind of emotional heart attack.

He just wanted to go to bed, to sob into his pillows, to scream and cry and just let it go. He wanted someone to rub his back, speak soothing, meaningless words into his ear, let him cry himself out into their chest. He wanted to feel warmth around him, wanted to feel hands against his skin, wanted to feel _wanted_.

He just wanted to be _wanted_ , was that so much to goddamn ask?

Mark had stood up to turn off the game and put the controllers up, and he was standing over him now, reaching for the remote, flashing that bit of skin, and Jack could just imagine sinking his teeth into it just then. Not just for the sexual thrill anymore. Now he wanted to inflict pain, some small taste of what he'd had to go through, because Mark was never going to know how he wrecked Jack. How much he made him suffer.

It wasn't Mark's fault. It wasn't. Jack lied to him, Jack lied constantly, he couldn't expect Mark to just read his thoughts and somehow magically know and understand. It wasn't fair to be angry with him. It wasn't. He wasn't trying to be malicious. He wasn't.

_"He really is cruel, isn't he?"_

Dark's words rang in his ears. And he was wrong. He was still wrong. He wasn't cruel. He was a good person. He didn't have a filter, and he needed to fix that, but he cared for his friends, he took care of Jack, he did so much for him, he was good, he was good, _he was good_.

Maybe he didn't want good if good was just going to hurt him.

Mark had sat down next to him, remote in hand, and he was saying something as he flipped the TV on, a big goofy grin on his face, so heartbreakingly beautiful, pristine, untouchable. So close, but there was a barbed wire fence between them, and Jack was just throwing himself into it, over and over, shredding his skin against the metal in a fruitless attempt when Mark was happily naive, sitting on his side, enjoying the friendship and friendship alone.

_"I don't want your heart, little lamb."_

He didn't want love. Not right then. He just wanted someone to touch him like he was worth something. He wanted to feel warmth, feel desire, feel wanted and he didn't care anymore, he couldn't sit on this cold couch, in that same comfortable silence with Mark, not now, not when he left to go back to his empty apartment tomorrow morning, not when everything hurt and he just wanted something to soothe the ache and the emptiness and the cold.

_"I just want to see your pretty face twisted up while I give you what you need."_

_What I need._

It was what he needed. Right then, it was. Dark knew, Dark could fucking taste it with his strange, hungry eyes. He'd shown him last night, as he ran his fingers through his hair, and it had felt _so good_ , so very good, and he'd been so scared.

He couldn't remember why he'd been scared anymore. What could be worse than this? More emotionally devastating? When had Dark ever done anything that hurt him? _Actually_ hurt him? When had Dark ever done something that tore down his entire world? Dark was slow and Dark was terrifying and Dark was undoubtedly an inhuman creature. But he'd never hurt him.

When he told him to leave, he did. When he asked him to stop, he did. He did nothing but try to provide what he thought Jack needed. Even last night, when he'd finally shoved him away, when he'd told him to leave, and not show his face for the rest of the limited time Jack had left, Dark had obliged. Dark listened. Dark was patient. Dark wanted him.

_Dark wanted him_. And Mark thought he was _gross_.

Mark was flipping through channels, chattering happily, lamenting the fact that Jack was going to leave tomorrow, already talking about when he was going to see him again, and Jack's heart was breaking in his chest, as his lips parted, and the name slipped out.

" _Dark_."

Jack had never called him before. He didn't even know if he was listening. He didn't know any of the rules. But he called him, his voice so soft, broken, the sob choking in his throat, and Dark answered like he'd been waiting his whole life for that moment.

The moment the name left his lips, Mark was gone, his voice dying beside the quiet sound of the TV, and Dark took his place in a rush of glory. His skin flickered gray and hazy, sucking the color from the air around him. Jack could feel that wave pass through him, the tug in his gut like the creature pulling him in, and he wasn't scared of it just then, closed his eyes as he felt it reach deep inside him, tug at things he had no name for, like it was going to swallow him whole. Like it was sucking out the pain and misery along with everyone else. And those black eyes, with the familiar red glare, turned to him, sharp, intense . . . 

_Wanting._

"Jack."

He said his name like it was a treasure. Like it brought him pleasure just to speak it. Like it was the most beautiful sound in the world, and Jack did sob then, a broken noise shattering through the mask he'd put up. Not crying yet. Just . . . breaking.

Jack reached out before he knew what he was doing, one hand clutching Dark's shirt, the other gripping the couch as he dragged himself over, shaking, _trembling_ , and Dark didn't speak until Jack had swung his leg over, putting his fragile body in his lap. The demon's hands didn't move, laid out to either side, and his eyes bore into Jack like he could see right down into his soul.

"I thought you didn't want to see me, Jack."

He wasn't teasing. His voice was . . . almost genuine. Soft and soothing, and Jack's hands shook as he gripped his shirt, holding him as he slowly leaned forward to press his face into his flickering shoulder.

He smelled like woodsmoke, and something metallic.

"I changed my mind," he whispered back, shaking, the tears starting to fall as he pressed his body closer, felt that pull on his skin, like he too was draining of color, and it wasn't scary. He didn't want to be full of all this color when all it'd ever done was cause him pain.

Dark made a noise low in his throat, and Jack shivered, something sparking inside him, an arousal that didn't belong to Mark, as the demon finally brought his hands up, fingers pressing slowly into his skin, firm, hard, enough to leave bruises, but not . . . cruel.

It felt good.

"He hurt you," the demon murmured, his voice rough with something, anger or annoyance, or something hungry, he could never quite name the creature's emotions. His hands were pressing slowly up his body, not sliding across his skin, but gripping each new patch of skin in turn, pressing into his body only to release and grip again somewhere new, and Jack's heart was picking up in his chest as he heard the rumble echo through Dark's chest. "Stupid, cruel Mark."

"Don't say his name," Jack snapped, his fingers tugging at his shirt, an odd kind of anger flashing through him, hot and quick, washing over his misery to make a strange mix for a moment. "Don't . . . don't . . . just-"

"What do you want, Jack?" he asked, and he sounded more like the creature that had stalked him in his room, hungry, predatory, peregrine and _Dark_ , and Jack shivered in his lap as the demon brought one hand up to run it through his hair, pressing against his scalp the way he had last night, and Jack keened as he leaned into the touch. "Just tell me. I can give you everything you need. Just ask, my pet."

_I'm not your pet,_ something in the back of his head growled, but it never got past the heavy wall of heartbreak and arousal, and he only pressed closer to him, wrapping his arms around the demon's shoulders, digging his nails in as he leaned in to murmur right into his ear.

"Touch me," Jack whimpered, and he tried to make his voice steadier as he spoke again, not quite so pitiful, like a kicked puppy, his hands trailing up to grip at Dark's hair. "Just . . . make me forget . . . for a little while . . . _please_."

Jack could practically feel Dark smile that twisted, broken smile, the mockery of Mark's, as his hand pressed into his back, pushing him down firm into his lap, closer to him, spreading that alien feeling from his body through him, and Jack made a noise that even he couldn't really place.

"I can do that . . . for you, _Jack_."

Dark's hands were roaming now, hungrier, the hand in his hair pulling tighter as he pulled his face out of his shoulder, and turned it towards the dark creature, and Jack didn't fight him as he forced him face to face. His eyes were hooded, the gleam glinting from under heavy lashes, and he was smiling as he looked him over with greedy eyes, free hand ravening as it worked its way down his spine, and Jack felt wanted.

And when Dark kissed him, Jack only made a broken noise, high in his throat, and opened to him. He wasn't so much rough as he was hungry. Greedy. Unyielding as he took what he wanted, like a predator feasting on its prey, and Jack had never been kissed like this. Like he was being devoured, taken rather than shared or enjoyed, owned now by the creature working greedy lips against his, opening him to lick into his mouth, and _growling_. Like an animal. Like a _demon_ , and Jack shivered with want and fear alike.

When Dark's teeth bit down into his lip, Jack twisted his hands in the creature's hair, eliciting a low noise from him that sounded . . . nice. Jack did it again just to hear it, feel it rumble against the hand he dropped to his chest, feel the way he pushed against him harder, the way his hips lurched beneath him, and there was a burn in him now that was chasing away that broken ache.

_Wrong_ , something was screaming inside him. This was wrong, this was ugly and dirty, sinful, weak. This was stupid, he was going to regret this. Dark didn't deserve him, he was a demon, he tormented Mark. This was Mark's body that they were using. This was low. This was disgusting.

But Jack was already gross, wasn't he?

How much worse could he really get?

Jack pushed back against the gray form under him, his hands slipping from his dark hair to fumble with the creature's shirt, tugging at it as Dark smiled against his lips and leaned forward to let him tug it off. Cool hands were already under his own shirt, gripping and squeezing against the skin as Jack leaned back to let shining blue eyes travel across the bare form under him.

It was Mark's chest. Familiar, to a degree. The same shape, same flesh under his hands, firm and soft in turn. The scars were still there, running lines down to disappear into his jeans. And yet he wasn't looking at Mark just then. No matter the similarities. This was Dark under his hands, harder, sharper, gray and dark, and it might have been Mark's body, but just then, it all belonged to Dark.

Like Jack. He could feel it in the way Dark touched him. Feel it in the way he growled in his ear as he leaned forward to tug his own shirt up and over his head. Feel it in the way his gaze felt across his bare skin.

He could stop him, if he really wanted to. But so long as he let this happen, he no longer belonged to himself, or to Mark.

He was Dark's.

This was a bad idea.

But Jack didn't stop him. Not when he kissed into his mouth once more. Not when he gripped his hips to rock them against each other. Not when his hand came down to grab a handful of his ass. Not when the other was tugging at his fly.

He didn't stop him, only kissed him, with a desperate kind of need, and murmured a single command against his lips.

"Take me to my room."

He didn't even stop him when Dark threw him effortlessly over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes, and took him upstairs to fling him onto his bed, locking the door behind him.

  


* * *

  


There was nothing gentle about the way Dark fucked him.

It wasn't like his fantasies with Mark. There was no laughing. No smiling, or happy sighs, or contented moans. It wasn't slow and easy, lazy or playful. Dark didn't lick his way up his chest and tell him he was gorgeous, with a goofy smile or that crooked smirk.

Dark fucked him like he was some prize from a hunt. His fingers bit into his skin anywhere he touched, leaving bruises in their wake, and they roamed _everywhere_ , like they couldn't get enough. His mouth roamed too, across his back, biting and mouthing, hot and heavy, and his groans sent a black kind of electricity through Jack's body. He took his time opening him up, until he had the smaller man sobbing with need, face pressed into his pillow as he rocked back onto Dark's fingers, and it wasn't until he begged that Dark finally gave him what he wanted.

"So pretty," he hissed as he pushed into him, his hand coming out to push Jack's messy bangs from his face, and his eyes were drinking him in like he was some kind of treasure. And Jack didn't even mind being called 'pretty' as he clenched with want around him, as he rocked back slowly onto Dark's cock, breathing heavy, some aching part in his heart screaming Mark's name until Dark thrust forward, and wiped the name from his mind.

Dark fucked him into the mattress like a cheap whore, face shoved into his pillow as he thrust into him, the smacking of skin setting a sound to the brutal pace the demon set, and Jack was sobbing into the pillowcase, hands twisted up in the sheets as Dark's hands roamed and his cock bruised against Jack's prostate and his voice growled against his skin.

It should have been embarrassing. Or degrading. It should have made him feel filthy. But the things Dark was _saying_ , as his fingers bit into his skin with his desire . . .

"Look at you," he crooned, his voice wrapping around the words with pleasure, an intensity, a drive to it that had Jack shaking beneath him. "Wrapping around my cock _so nicely_. So pretty, little lamb. Look at the way you tremble for me. Hear the way you moan so sweet. You're a masterpiece, Jack. A work of art. Just for me."

He just felt _wanted_.

Dark leaned over him, his hand burying itself in Jack's burnt hair and craning him back so he could growl into his ear.

"Say my name, Jack."

" _Dark_ ," Jack groaned back without hesitation, his stomach roiling with the heat as he pounded into him, and he clenched around him at the pleased sound the creature made. "Dark, god, _Dark_."

Tears ran down his face - it was too much, too good, his hands everywhere, and it was all he'd wanted, all he'd wanted for so long, and Dark was giving it to him, and he wasn't sure if his body could take it even as every part of him screamed for more. He wanted it harder, rougher, he wanted Dark to ruin him as he crooned such sweet things into his ear, and he'd never wanted this kind of sex before, but it was driving everything out of him so perfectly. All the misery, the anxiety, the fear and sadness, the loneliness - it was like that void in the demon was drawing it right out of his skin as he fucked him, and Jack just wanted to keep going until he couldn't feel a goddamn thing ever again.

Nothing except for the electric shocks of pleasure ripping through his body.

"Stroke yourself," that exquisite voice commanded as Dark dropped him back onto his pillow, hands coming up to score lines into his back, dragging back down to his hips and anchoring them as he rocked. "I want to see you . . . come apart under me . . . so pretty, pet."

Jack did as he was told, his hand yanking itself from the covers to wrap aching fingers around his swollen shaft, gasping and whimpering at the feel as he started to stroke, spreading the stream of precum across his length and and moaning as Dark shifted just right, so he was sliding against that spot each time, not hammering it but hitting it just right, body curving over him, lips coming down to press into Jack's shoulder, tender, before he sank his teeth into the meat there.

A sweet pain blossomed across his shoulder as Dark bit down, growling into the flesh as he pinned him there, rocking just right, cool body pressed against Jack's back, that void pulling the blackness out of his soul, and he shuddered, toes curling, almost there, almost, it was so good and-

"Cum for me, Jack." Dark's voice was like dark honey in his ear, and the smell of woodsmoke and something metallic was all around him as the demon crooned in his ear, voice pitched in that odd way as he crafted his words so delicately. "Cum for me, beautiful creature. Let me see you come undone for me." Those heavy teeth buried themselves back into the tender flesh of his shoulder, and the next words echoed through him despite his occupied mouth. " _Cum for me_."

And Jack sobbed, and shuddered, and did as Dark commanded.

He screamed. He knew he did. The force of his orgasm was like a physical attack on his body, some invisible thing gripping him from inside, squeezing every part of him, making it impossible to breathe for a moment, before it released him into the sweetest bliss, like it'd dropped him into an ocean of pleasure, and he was drowning, but he didn't care. His body shook, only the hand at his hip keeping him from collapsing as the other shoved his face firmly into the pillow, to muffle his screams, and he was trembling, groaning, his eyes rolled back as Dark fucked him through it.

He fucked him until he was sobbing again, over-sensitive, too weak to move him even as he continued to dribble onto the mattress, Dark milking him dry. And when the creature stilled, teeth digging so sharply into his shoulder, body shaking above him, he could _feel_ him cum, inside him, but through him, some wave of terrible pleasure that felt sticky and cloying under his skin, even as he moaned, fatigue making him shake.

Jack's body had given out on him some time ago, limp, held up by Dark's hand at his hip and his own bent knees, and he didn't bother to try to move as Dark pulled off him, but didn't release him. The hand at his hip hooked around his waist, pulling the smaller, trembling body against his gray form as he pulled them both into the bed, and even in his exhaustion he felt a moment of surprise.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected from this. He wasn't sure what he thought Dark would do when he'd gotten what he wanted. He hadn't really thought about it that far, but he'd had some nebulous vision of the demon catching his breath, maybe thanking him in that purr of his, or slapping his ass before he left him a ruined mess on the bed.

What he didn't expect was for the creature to wrap a strong arm around him, and pull him against his chest, chin pressed into his shoulder, breath washing over his ear as he sighed. One hand came up to brush his sweaty bangs from his face, the coolness of his palm feeling exquisite against his hot skin, and then he was _petting him_ of all things, a low sound in his throat as they lay out across the bed.

If he hadn't been so tired from going through . . . _that_ \- he couldn't even put words to it yet - he might have cried.

Instead, he only let himself fall back against the demon's chest, feel his cool skin pressing in against his back, hand running through his hair, body still thrumming with pleasure, and let sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I swear Mark's just oblivious, I swear he's not that much of an asshole, I swear he's just stupid, I swear he's not this cruel, I swear . . .~~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [heavydirtysoul by TWENTY ØNE PILØTS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzXRdS9cynQ) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk).
> 
> Supposed to be writing other things, but this damn fic is like an addiction, someone help ;___;

Jack woke what felt like hours later, though it was still dark out. He was loathed to move, feeling the aches and pains littering his frame even without moving to test them out, and he knew he was going to be sore for a few days at least. In more ways than one.

He waited for a few minutes, just breathing slow, eyes still closed, and waited for the guilt to crash over him again, like it had that night a few days back. Waited for the misery to catch him in the gut again, rip through him, rip his heart open fresh again until he got it back under control. But it just . . . didn't.

He wasn't happy. But he wasn't miserable either. He just . . . was.

Was he broken? He wouldn't be surprised. Whatever Dark had done to him . . . it wasn't like sex the way he was used to it. It wasn't just fucking him. He'd done something, something to drive his body to extremes, ripping him apart and pouring himself in, and he wondered if he was dirty in some way now. What happened when a human slept with a demon? Were there side effects? Demon STDs? Was he going to have weird eyes now or something? He was almost tempted to hop off to the bathroom to check, and check the litany of bruises he knew he was sporting. God, how high had he bit him? Was his shirt going to cover it?

Wasn't it weird to be this calm after something like that?

The Irishman sighed, slow, through his nose as he gathered the lazy thoughts, shoving them harshly from his mind. He'd have plenty of time to think it all out on the obnoxiously long plane ride home, and for now he had things he needed to take care of. He was pretty sure it was still quite early, still dark out, but he hadn't set his alarm, wasn't even sure where his phone was just then. And he hadn't cleaned up after, he was going to be a fucking mess, and he needed to get up to go to the bathroom anyway-

His rambling thoughts came to a screeching halt as he finally processed all the signals his sleepy senses were providing him, and he recognized the weight over his hip.

Somebody had their arm around him. A big arm, warm and heavy, and it would have felt good there if his brain wasn't suddenly preoccupied with the more important thought of _who's arm was that_? No way Dark was still there. No way, right? He'd . . . he'd been holding him when he fell asleep, but he couldn't actually stay here, right? He couldn't keep the body that long. He couldn't _sleep_. And hell, why would he want to in the first place when this took so much energy, and he'd already gotten what he wanted, and Jack's breath was already hitching high in his throat before he opened his eyes to the face inches from his own.

_Mark._

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , that was Mark sleeping inches from him, Mark's arm thrown over his hip, Mark's fingers trailing just over the swell of his very naked ass over the sheet, and the panic was twisting high in his throat now as he tried to process the warm, familiar face before him.

Jack was still naked, was still aching from fucking Dark, and Mark was laying in blissful slumber _right there_.

Fuck, how was he supposed to get out of this? His skin was crawling, panic setting in, his chest rising and falling quick though he had closed his throat around the actual breath, and he was shaking so hard, he was surprised that that alone hadn't woken the sleeping man.

What would he do if he woke up just then? How would he respond to waking up in bed naked with Jack? And Jack had no excuse to give him, no clever words to offer, because it wasn't like it could have been a drunken mistake or something of the like, because Mark couldn't drink, and he had nothing to offer him in explanation besides the truth. And he would never be able to form the words.

He was shifting away from him before he could even come up with a plan, too afraid, too panicked to do anything other than get away from him, his stomach roiling in fear and disgust, and he didn't want this, he didn't, he didn't want Mark to have to wake up and face his mistakes before he even had to-

The arm around his hip turned firm, pressing him back against the warm body beside him in a solid grip as those eyes opened to show . . . god, what was he staring at? His face was Mark's, but his eyes were black. Completely black, the whites hidden behind a curtain of darkness, little specks of color, like stars in the sky, scattered across the orbs, before they were clearing in an instant, and Jack was staring into Dark's deep eyes, the barest hint of that red sheen glinting from under heavy lids.

"Where are you going, little lamb?"

His voice was rough, but that same familiar growl, words crafted so carefully behind his lips, and it washed over Jack like oil, or tar. A heavy blanket, forcing him to relax out of the weight of it alone as he looked up at him with wide blue eyes, letting his body catch the tremulous breath he'd been holding on to.

"I thought yeh were Mark," he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. Dark's face pulled up at that, a flash of something in his eyes that had gray flickering across his face.

"You think I'd let Mark put his hands on you?"

Jack swallowed, watching the alien emotions play across the creature's face as the implications of what he said sank in. Did he . . . did he really think he owned him now? Is that what had happened? Did he think he could stop Mark from touching him if Jack wanted him to? Or was he just saying he wouldn't leave Mark here after that?

Jack shifted, wanting to get out of the creature's grasp as he watched him with those hungry eyes. He leaned forward to sit up, and felt a moment of relief as the demon released him easily, gritting his teeth as his body cried out in protest. He was definitely covered in bruises. He could see them even in the dark room, up his arms, across his torso, bright on his hips, and he wondered about the bite again, hand coming up to touch the raw skin, wincing and knowing he'd need to go take care of the mess he was before he could go back to bed.

Except . . .

Jack paused, blinking in surprise as he looked down his stomach again, his mouth opening in a little "oh" as his exhausted mind caught up.

"Did . . . did you clean up?" he asked, his voice breaking a little, sounding completely and utterly fucked. He could hear the little noise the demon made, saw him flicker back to gray as he laid out across the sheets.

"You were exhausted, pet," he told him simply, before he leaned forward, lifting himself effortlessly from his prone position to press his lips into Jack's shoulder blade. Not kissing, but . . . smelling him? Breathing against him, heavy and slow and careful, and Jack shuddered, resisting the urge to pull away.

"Oh," he said simply, and then let them fall into silence, unsure of where to go from here.

He hadn't expected Dark to stay. Hell, he hadn't expected him to stay seconds after finishing with him, much less sleep beside him.

Did demons sleep?

Dark's mouth was cool against his back, but soft, gentle and still, and he was just staying like that, silent, hardly even asking for his attention, and Jack felt strangely . . . comfortable.

There was a demon in his bed. Wearing his love's skin. Pressed against his back, gentle compared to the fuck last night, and Jack just felt comfortable.

There was something _wrong_ with him. But that wasn't as much of a surprise as it should have been. He'd known that for a while now. Since he first started crushing on Mark. When he first realized he loved him. When he met Dark, and didn't run. When Mark told him what he was, and he _still didn't run_. When he sat and ate spaghetti with him, when he got comfortable with his little appearances, and the way he stalked him like a panther on the hunt.

When he'd been hurt, and his first instinct had been to go to a demon for comfort.

Maybe if he called him a demon enough in his head, he'd be able to actually recognize that fact. Because he'd never really treated him like that, had he? He'd acknowledged the danger, sure. But you didn't sit with demons, or talk with demons, or fuck demons. You ran from them. Or made deals with them. Or got eaten by them, or some shit like that. Not sit with them in bed after sleeping together, after they'd taken the time to clean you before wrapping you up in their arms . . .

"How are you still here?" Jack asked in a quiet voice after the silence had stretched into untold minutes. "Did yeh . . . were yeh actually sleeping?"

Dark made a low noise deep in his chest, and leaned forward to press his forehead against his shoulder blade instead, freeing his mouth to speak.

"The body was tired. But I still had strength."

He sounded . . . dull. Tired or bored, but strangely patient as he answered Jack's question against his skin, and the green-haired resisted the urge to shudder once more. He felt like a child prodding at a sleeping lion, tugging on its whiskers, and only the warmth of the sun keeping the basking creature from stirring. And he had no idea what the sun was in that metaphor, but he knew he didn't want to cast a shadow between it and the dark creature at his back.

Then again, he'd fucked that lion.

Jack's head fell forward, out of exhaustion and a need to stretch the taut muscles in the back of his neck, and one hand rose to run fingers through his bleach-burnt hair. So what now? What was he supposed to do now that he had a sexed out demon in his bed, when all he wanted to do was get a few more hours of sleep before he had to wake for his flight? Did he tell him to leave? Or did he let him do whatever he wanted?

"Dark," Jack said after another few moments of silence, his voice that same soft, neutral tone he'd used the first time he met him. He waited for the demon to move, to pull away from him, or even speak. Anything other than just continue his statue impersonation against his shoulder blade.

"Hmm," was the demon's only response, the sound reverberating through the cavity of Jack's chest, and he fought the way his breathing stuttered as he drew in a deep breath.

"Mark . . . should probably wake up in his own bed."

A beat of silence passed between them. Then another, almost heavy in the air, and despite the tension, Jack only felt mild flutterings of fear around the edges of his heart. It felt wrong to bring Mark up again after Dark's reaction to the first one, and everything in him still screamed that this was a dangerous predator pressed into his back, that he should do everything within his power to avoid angering it. And yet . . .

_He won't hurt you._

He trusted Mark. And Dark had done nothing . . . nothing to truly warrant the fear. He'd been almost . . . well, certainly not a gentleman. But for a demon, he'd been . . . nice. And he'd only ever done what Jack asked of him. What reason did he have for fearing him, besides creepy eyes and slow movements?

"Yes, he should, pet," Dark answered finally, the words murmured directly against his skin, and Jack felt gooseflesh prickle across his shoulder as the creature pressed a gentle kiss into his back before he stood in a startlingly fluid motion. And despite how cool his skin had been, Jack was left feeling cold without his touch.

Dark was across the room in a jarringly quick amount of time, Mark's jeans already slipped around his hips and the t-shirt clasped in one hand as he stood by the door, rolling his shoulders like he was chasing cricks in his neck, and Jack wasn't sure if he'd blacked out for a moment or if Dark really could teleport. Or . . . something.

There was a lot he didn't know about Dark. Hell, probably most things he didn't know. What he did know could fit in the palm of his hand, and none of it was necessarily _good_. And yet, here he was. He'd never been the type for the one night stands, never been the type for emotionless sex, a romp in the hay, so to speak, and he'd certainly never been one for the kind of sex Dark had given him last night.

But . . . he just felt so . . . fulfilled? Satisfied? Healed? That crack, that crumbling bit inside him that had threatened to collapse at Mark's careless words didn't feel so volatile just then, didn't feel like it was decaying, shattering inside him. He didn't feel like he was about to break into a million pieces just then. He didn't feel whole, by any means, but . . . he was . . . stable, at least.

"Dark," Jack called before he realized what he was doing, watching as the demon froze, hand on the doorknob, gray body turning just so back towards him so he could see him from under dark lashes. And he knew what his mouth wanted to say, knew what his chest was filled with right then, like mortar to hold together his broken pieces.

_Gratitude_. He wanted to thank him. For . . . for doing . . . whatever he'd done. He wanted to thank him. And nothing about this whole thing had scared him like that did.

_"Thank you,"_ he wanted to say. But he wouldn't, his jaw setting, chin jutting up into a stubborn angle as he looked at the monochromatic creature.

"I'm no' yer pet." It wasn't nearly as strong as he wanted it to be. It wasn't a reprimand. It sounded like a "thank you".

Dark's lips turned up at the corners, mild, subtle, as his eyes darkened, and it didn't look as mocking to him as he thought it should. Just . . . pleased.

"Of course, my sweet."

And it didn't sound like a mollification. It sounded like "you're welcome".

  


* * *

  


"Jack?"

Mark's voice was tentative from the other side of the door, his knocks light but loud enough to carry to across the room, and Jack took a slow breath, tugging at the big jacket hanging loosely on his frame as he stood from his seat on the bed. He felt uncomfortably warm in the big hoodie, but it was the only thing that hid the bright bite mark that lit up across his shoulder like a rose in snow, and he was not about to risk that being seen.

Not when his voice already sounded like he'd been fucked raw.

"Come in!" Jack called back, and despite the rasp, his voice sounded . . . normal. Completely and utterly normal. Like it always did. Like nothing at all happened. Because he was talking to Mark, and the instinct to hide the bad was so deep seated now that he didn't even have to think about it. It just happened.

He was zipping up his bigger suitcase as Mark opened his door, familiar warm face peeking inside and catching sight of the Irishman as he finished his packing.

"Oh, you're up."

"I'm a grown man," Jack laughed, easy, and the action didn't feel bitter. "I know how teh get myself up in the mornin'."

"I wasn't sure!" Mark cried in a pitchy voice, his hands coming up defensively as he grinned at his friend. He was stepping forward, fully in the room now, and Jack wasn't uncomfortable until he closed the door behind him. "Didn't want you to sleep in too late. I, uh . . . I wasn't sure what time you went to bed last night."

There it was. He'd known Mark was going to ask. How could he not? He wasn't stupid. There was no way he'd miss so many hours of missing time. And he was . . . he was worried for him. He knew how Mark felt about Dark, how tense their relationship was, how concerned the American was any time the demon was around his Irish friend. He had to ask. There was no pretending it hadn't happened.

"Not too late," Jack answered easily, yanking the suitcase off the little stand to set it by the emptied dresser and flashing Mark a reassuring smile. He could see the tension in the other man's shoulders, the way he kept fidgeting with his own fingers, the way his eyes kept darting around the room like he couldn't look him straight on for too long. And Jack knew he needed the reassurance he offered in an easy voice. "He wasn't bad."

Jack watched the way a bit of the tension seeped from his rigid frame, his shoulders slumping a little even as his fingers fought with each other just under the hem of his shirt. Those pretty brown eyes darted to his face, his eyebrows up in concern and a touch of hope, and he sounded cautious as he asked again.

"He wasn't?" Jack shook his head, easy smile on his face before he turned his attention back to his other bag. Mark seemed to consider that a moment. "What, uh . . . do you know what he wanted?"

"Freedom?" Jack offered without turning around, his voice nonchalant as he tried to keep together the lies he wanted to tell, try to keep them straight in his head. "What does he ever want, Mark?"

"No, just . . . He was here a long time, and . . . was he with you?"

Jack paused at that, turning his head just slightly to hear Mark's voice better. He sounded . . . scared. Not just nervous or uncomfortable, but like he was worried about something in particular. A little bundle of nerves started building slowly in the Irishman's gut, and he resisted the urge to let his breathing pick up, resisted the urge to let his mind wander to ridiculous things. Dark had made it pretty obvious he had no intention of telling Mark about this, and he could keep it a secret if he wanted . . . right? There was another reason Mark sounded like he was trying to work up to asking something terrifying.

"Uh, I mean, he was around me most of the night, yeah."

"Like, actually with you?"

The bundle of nerves was turning into a painful knot, and Jack fought to keep his breathing to a normal cadence as he took extra time digging through his bag, as if he was checking to make sure something was there.

"Um."

"I mean, you could see him? He stayed . . . he stayed within sight?"

Okay. Maybe he . . . wasn't thinking about that? Jack couldn't tell what Mark was trying to get at.

"Yes? I fell asleep at one point, but-"

"Did he leave?"

Jack stopped finally, setting the bag aside to turn and look Mark full on, his face pulled up in careful confusion as he took in the American's nervous jittering - the way he was tugging at his shirt, eyes darting around the room, voice pitched. He looked so . . . rattled. And Jack didn't even think about it as he stepped forward to place a hand over Mark's jumping arm.

"Mark, what's wrong?"

"Did he leave? Did he leave the house, Jack?"

Jack blinked in surprise, the idea utterly flooring him. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't like Dark wasn't out of the house fairly often. Hell the second time he'd ever met the demon had been in a hotel room hours away. And Dark had appeared in other places besides the American's Los Angeles home before, in the car once, and one time he came to watch while Chica played at the dog park. It was rare, but it happened. Still, it seemed so . . . _alien_ to think of the demon going anywhere that Mark hadn't taken him.

What a shitty life that would be.

"I don't . . . I don't think so?" Jack offered after a moment, watching Mark's eyes search his face. The way they'd been wrapped up in each other . . . "I think I would have noticed if he left, with how we were . . . sitting."

Mark nodded, looking away for a moment and hopefully missing the blush Jack knew was blooming across his cheeks. He was tempted to hide again, to go back to packing and not have to look at his friend just then. But he just looked so . . . shaken. And Jack was unwilling to release his arm just then.

"Mark?" Jack asked after a few moments of silence, trying to draw his attention back, worried by how thin the man had pressed his lips, how the skin in the middle of his brow was pale under the wrinkles of concern, how he was breathing just a little too heavy. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Mark breathed, and he seemed to take a moment, letting out a slow, pained breath and closing his eyes, as if he needed a moment to ground himself. "Yeah, just . . . just overthinking, I think."

Jack hesitated, unsure, for just a moment. He wanted to touch him, more than just the arm, something to help fix it, help ground him and soothe him and just make him happy. Like he always wanted. An echo of the pain from the night before panged through him, and he fought the urge for a moment, still unsure if Mark somehow knew something, or if he was referring to something else entirely. But when he saw the way the other man shivered, light and subtle, and couldn't help it, leaning in to pull the man into a swift embrace.

It wasn't intimate. Just warm. A quick offering of friendship between the two as Mark shook again, his hand coming out to grip on the Irishman's back and squeezing him roughly. He could feel the ache from where his fingers brushed against fresh bruises, bruises those very fingers left in his skin, but he pushed the thought aside, trying to ignore it as he put a firm hand against Mark's back, rubbing little circles between his shoulder blades.

"You okay?" he asked, trying not to speak the words directly into his ear like he wanted. He could smell Mark's shampoo, and that kind of musky scent that always clung to his skin, and somewhere in the back of his mind he noted the lack of woodsmoke. Which was fine. He was a different person. They were different people. Sleeping with Dark hadn't been sleeping with Mark. Obviously. Hell, he hadn't even really seen Mark naked, despite everything. Didn't even know what his dick looked like.

Though he did know what it felt like inside him.

The world seemed to tilt oddly at that thought, the colors in the room getting weird and funny, and only the feeling of Mark's fingers pressing into those bruises again kept him grounded in reality. Something was tugging at him from deep inside, some kind of deep panic, not wild but sure and deliberate, and he was suddenly very sure he would have broken down if couldn't feel the way Mark was breathing deep against his shoulder.

For now, he had something important to focus on. He could panic later.

Mark pulled back sharply after a moment, his fingers going back to his shirt, tugging harshly at the material as he fixed it, and Jack didn't mind as he shoved his own hands into his jacket, feeling strangely . . . neutral as he waited for Mark to explain. He didn't like how roughly Mark had pulled away. But he'd let him hug him in the first place so it kind of balanced out.

"Are yeh worried about somethin'?" Jack asked after another moment of silence, prodding lightly. Mark was not . . . fond of Dark. But then, Jack knew they'd had a lot of trouble early on, a lot of fighting and terror and threats before they'd found the tentative peace they had now. He couldn't blame him for being nervous of him. Not when he had to act like a predator in everything he did.

Mark looked back at him quick, meeting his eyes for the briefest of moments, and Jack could see a genuine fear there. Like that day in the car, what felt like years ago, when he'd told him about Dark and what he was, and Jack wanted to help pacify that fear, wanted to reassure him that everything was okay, was going to be okay. He let his lips quirk up in a quick smile, and he'd almost opened them to offer reassurances when Mark spoke again.

"Someone got hurt last night."

Jack stopped, lips slightly parted, eyes wide as he tried to process the words, and it took him a moment to find his voice again.

"Someone . . . we know?"

"No," and Jack felt a strange guilt at the relief that washed over him. "No, but . . . they were attacked, and . . . they don't know who did it or why . . . but it was the right time, and I . . . I woke up . . . _sore_ , and I don't-"

"Yeh think Dark did something?" Jack breathed, heart hammering in his chest. Part of him was already dismissing the news, knowing full well why Mark would feel sore - and there was a terrible guilt twisting inside him at that - but at the same time . . .

"He used to," Mark murmured, so softly Jack could barely hear him. "He used to go out, and hunt, and I used to wake up the same way, sore and clean because he'd always take a shower, and I don't know why he took so much time, and-"

"He wanted to talk to me." Jack spoke up before he even realized what he was going to say, a fear tightening his throat and making it hard to speak. He felt like his brain had divided into two parts, two separate entities worried about very different things just then. One was focused on that familiar desire, the want to reassure and make everything better, the one that drove him to lie and lie and lie, to hurt himself to fix whatever was hurting Mark just then, and it was that side that had spit the words so hastily. A reassurance, even if he was offering up something that hinted too heavily at something he _never_ wanted him to know.

But the other was so far removed from that, so far removed from Mark, so focused on the single idea that Dark . . . _hunted_. Hunted people, apparently. Mark had never really mentioned that before. He knew they'd had trouble at the start, knew Mark thought Dark was dangerous, knew that they had fought harshly over rules for Dark being here. But he'd never known . . . he'd never thought . . . that Dark was actually _hurting_ people.

How ridiculously naive of him, now that he thought about it. Every single goddamn sign pointed to that fact. How scared Mark was, how much he hated Dark, the simple fact that Dark was a _demon_ , and everything he did _screamed_ predator. God, what were those hands capable of? What had they done in the past? Had they inflicted pain with the same deft skill as the pleasure he'd wrung from him last night?

He'd literally fucked a monster. And the world tilted oddly again as that thought echoed through his mind.

"He . . . what?" Mark asked, and the sound of his voice grounded him enough to keep hold of that careful mask he donned, his eyes bright and reassuring as he leaned carefully back against the dresser behind him, needing the solid support.

"He wanted to talk. He did it before too. I think he . . . I think he likes talking to me?"

"He likes . . . talking to you?"

"Yeah, I mean, he's creepy about it, 'cause he's Dark and he's gotta be creepy about everything. But that's literally what he did the first time I met him. Just talked about shit, and asked me questions. And that's pretty much what happened last night, too. Sometimes he just . . . chills, I dunno . . ."

That was farther than he wanted to go. More lies than he wanted to tell and more truth than he wanted to admit to. Mark could pretty much tell whenever Dark came to see him now, but he'd had no idea of the content of the meetings. Or, at least, not the recent meetings. He knew he was spending more time with him, knew he was doing something beyond just _watching_ , but he'd never really pushed to know exactly what, and Jack could see the wheels turning in Mark's head as he tried to process.

"So . . . you think he just came to see you?"

Jack's stomach tightened, the fear roiling together with uncertainty as he thought about that. He had no idea why Dark came here. No idea why he seemed fascinated with him. No idea why he wanted . . . that. He . . . he _could_ have just been a smokescreen. He could have used him to get out, used seeing him as an excuse to run free in the world. It was _possible_ , wasn't it? Mark certainly seemed to think so. And yet . . . could he really have run off and hurt someone in the little time they'd slept together?

"I think so?" Jack answered tentatively, pushing his hands further into his jacket pockets to resist the urge to wring them together. "I mean, I could be wrong. I can't read him very well, he's so fuckin' weird. But that's what it seemed like anyway."

Mark watched him for a long moment, searching his face, and Jack could see how badly he wanted to believe. How badly he wanted the reassurance Jack was offering him right then. And his stomach was still roiling, and his mind still fractured, and there was still a _chance_ that Dark had done something terrible last night, but all Jack wanted to do was chase that fear from Mark's eyes.

"I," he started, then had to swallow, clear his throat, feeling the way it wanted to crack, before continuing in a soft voice. "I don't think he left, Mark."

A little of the tension in Mark's shoulders seemed to relax. Then a little more, the wrinkles in his shirt shifting in odd ways as he let them drop further. He was looking away again, eyes distant and still a little unsure before they turned back to Jack's face, his expression slowly crawling towards . . . wonder?

"How do you handle him so well?" Mark asked in a strained voice, and he looked genuinely lost. Curious. Unsure. Jack swallowed, the odd tilt in the world starting to come back into focus again. "How do you just . . . how are you so calm? About him?"

"I don't know," Jack murmured without hesitation, the words so honest on his lips as he looked back at him. He really didn't. But since the beginning, since the first meeting, he hadn't been . . . well, he hadn't treated him like the freaky fuck he was. He knew he was a demon, but he treated him like . . . like a person. A dangerous person, but a person nonetheless. And he had no answer as to why. Maybe because it was Mark's face, even with the empty eyes and flickering auras and that awful void in him. Whatever it was, he knew that his response to the demon was not normal. "I just kinda . . . take 'im in the moment, I guess. He's never done nothin' teh me, so . . ."

_Nothing I didn't want, anyway._

Mark nodded, and Jack watched as his shoulders sank, his arms falling limp at his side, and he looked . . . tired. Relieved, but tired. And beautiful in the morning light coming in from his window.

"Mark?" Jack asked, and despite everything, despite his confusion and pain and the thing twisting his gut up with guilt and fear alike, he still sounded so . . . _normal_. Mark raised his eyes to meet his gaze, and the Irishman offered him a reassuring smile, letting his body act on instinct as he reached out to grip his friend's shoulder, squeezing it firmly and shoving him lightheartedly. "I think it's okay. 'M pretty sure Dark didn't have time to do nothin', and I don't think he'd risk it even if he did. Y'all have yer . . . _thing_. Yer agreement. And I don't think he'd risk fuckin' it up."

He had no way of knowing that. No way of knowing that for sure. He had no idea what went on in Dark's head. He had no idea what the demon wanted, or why he would hunt in the first place - if it was an actual need or just for fun. Hell, he didn't even know exactly what had happened. Hadn't bothered to ask _how_ this person had gotten hurt. What had happened to them. If they were even alive. Because he didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe it. He wanted to believe his own words as much as Mark did.

Mark was nodding, and Jack could see the weight lifting off him, see the warm morning light soaking into his sunkissed skin, see the way his lips were pulling back in a familiar smile, and memories of his time here flashed through his mind again. Mark grinning at him from under messy hair as they sat at the breakfast table, scarfing down pancakes. Mark's easy smile as Tyler and Ethan joked. His sleepy eyes shining from under dark lashes as he watched TV, warm and heavy in Jack's lap. His hand pressing into the back of the couch as he asked if Jack was okay. His beautiful laughter as he told him how gross he was.

Dark's crooning voice as he told him how pretty he was.

"Thank you," Mark said, and the words sounded like a sigh as he reached his own arm out to grip on Jack's shoulder, a mirror of the Irishman's actions. "Seriously, thank you Seán. Like-" He seemed to struggle to find the words for a moment before he turned big brown eyes to Jack and smiled a heartbreakingly sweet smile. "I've dealt with him for so long on my own. And I don't know what it is about you where you can just . . . I don't know, accept him, or whatever. But I just . . . I really appreciate it. And I know you don't have to be here, but I'm . . . I'm glad you chose to stick around."

It felt like someone had driven a warm spike right through his chest, and it was chasing out everything else for a moment - the guilt and the fear and the shame and the confusion - and it was just that sweet, familiar pain as he smiled back at the man he adored.

"'Course, Mark," he said with a grin. "I love ya, man."

Mark smiled back at him like he really did as he responded.

"Love ya too, Seán."

And Jack felt both whole and broken as he grinned through that sweet pain, and ignored the echoes of Dark's hungry eyes in his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed to the tune of [Various Storms & Saints by Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6woElFupFU4) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk).

The sun was just starting to rise over Brighton when Jack finally made it back to his apartment. The jingle of his keys in the lock sounded too loud in the early morning air, and he shuffled inside in a rush, dragging his bags behind him as exhaustion dragged at his limbs. He'd manage to sleep a fair bit on the plane ride, not surprising considering the lack of sleep he'd gotten the night before, but he still felt like he could probably sleep for a few years if it had been in his own bed.

Jack made quick work of waking his humble abode, turning on lights and the heat; chasing the dead air from his living room by throwing open a window and throwing his bags haphazardly into his bedroom before heading back to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He'd honestly intended to just pass out for a few hours when he got back, sleeping till noon being nothing new for the Irishman, but now that he was here, alone, it just didn't seem . . . right. The brief glance in his room had not seemed . . . inviting. Cold and dark and . . . empty.

Coffee. He needed coffee. In his big gray mug. And his slippers. And maybe to record a video, something light and stupid. Just something to reinstill normality into his life because everything still had a weird tint to it - like there was a filter over his entire life - and he just wanted this very confusing week to be over and behind him.

He couldn't remember much of the first hour he was home. He knew he made a big pot of coffee, and he knew he made a sizable dent in it, with no sign of stopping. He was in his comfy slippers and just an old pair of boxers, without any knowledge of where and when he'd removed his pants. And he was standing in his kitchen, staring out over the counter separating the area from the living room, eyes gazing unseeingly out the big window into the cool morning sky.

It was good to be home, honestly. It was easy to think of the place as cold and empty after the bombastic frivolity of Mark's place, but he actually loved it. It was his, and his alone - cozy and quiet and _safe_. And while he _loved_ going out and enjoying time with his friends, loved goofing off and being loud and obnoxious with the guys, he liked his peace and solitude too.

It was nice, the balance he'd found. His days were relaxing, peaceful and completely under his control. He got to do what he wanted, followed his own particular schedule, enjoyed the easy silence of his mellow walls, the comfort of his furniture, the way he could dance around the place without anyone there to give him weird looks. When he was feeling lonely, he could hit the streets and wander, or reach out to his friends online, maybe do a collab. And then there were the visits, where he got to actually go see them, and it just satisfied any remaining ache he might have. It was perfect, a blissful little set up that he couldn't be happier with.

And he was happy to be back now, ready to slip back into that routine. Relax in his cozy home. Scream into his microphone. Dance in his living room. Relax in his bed as he scrolled through his Tumblr and Twitter feeds. Enjoy his coffee while he chatted with Robin over editing. Spend too much time fiddling with his hair before he got on a call with the guys. Talk to Mark behind the safety of Discord, where it was just his voice, and he didn't have worry about the stupid faces he made as they talked about nothing and everything.

Fantasize about his stupid infatuation where no one could see him.

Jack could already feel the familiar warmth of his silly fantasies settling over his mind as he sipped on his coffee, letting them tug him along, half-mindless as he slipped into his routine and let the scenes wash over him. Mark's little half-smile, wrinkles forming in the corners of his eyes as he looked at Jack across the table, like he was chuckling at a stupid joke. Or admiring him and his antics. The way his shirt would stretch and wrinkle as he reached his hands high over his head and yawned, showing off flashes of skin, the hints of fading fingerprints showing around his hip bones. The way he would stand, stepping a little too close as he ran his fingers through Jack's hair and told him he was going to take a shower. The way his voice would pitch lower as he invited the Irishman to join him.

They were old, worn images. Like a photograph kept in a wallet, rubbed and faded from overuse, and they slipped into his mind with the same kind of comfort as falling into that familiar place in his mattress, between soft blankets and fluffy pillows. It took no effort to conjure them, almost falling into place with a kind of inevitability, and Jack welcomed them the same way he'd welcomed the familiar smell of his apartment. Just another part of home.

Only . . . they weren't quite right just then. The image of Mark's back as he walked away, pausing just as he reached the doorway to turn and give him a coy little smile . . . it was wrong. Skewed. Just a little. And there were glimpses of a flickering gray form and dark eyes, that smile just a touch . . . _off_. And it wasn't Mark's playful timbre reverberating through his thoughts. It was a low purr, clipped words crafted with a careful tongue, and Jack closed his eyes, willing the thoughts away.

They were stupid anyway. Flashes of childish dreams that had haunted him for ages, the same kinds of fantasies you played through your head about being able to fly, or becoming a superhero, or finding a dragon, or something. Things that would literally _never_ happen, but were fun to play with, because _what if they did? How cool would that be?_

Jack's fingernails were biting in his palm around the handle of his mug, and his other hand shook as he pressed it against the warm ceramic. Dreams. Fantasies. That's all they were. And he'd recognized that, sitting on the couch next to Mark as he rambled in his oblivious bliss. He'd recognized it the moment before he called the demon, recognized that it was _never going to happen_. What he had was hopelessly unrequited love for a man who could never feel the same. Mark might care for him. Mark might love him dearly as a friend. But Mark would never feel this blooming ache in his chest the way Jack did every time he thought of chocolate eyes and a crooked smile.

He'd let Dark have him because he realized it then. He'd been holding on to some stupid, childish hope. Some dream that Mark would suddenly come to realize that Jack was worth something in that sense. That he was okay with a man, and that man in particular. Or even that maybe . . . just _maybe_ . . . Mark actually felt the same, and just didn't know how to express it.

How _stupid_. How unbelievably stupid he was to hold on to that hope. And how pitiful was it that even now he was grasping desperately at any memory, any train of thought that might prove it wasn't hopeless. Because he didn't want to give this up. He didn't want this sweet pain to fade away into nothing. He didn't want to look at the beautiful face and feel nothing but friendship.

He wanted him. He wanted him so bad it hurt. And he was _never_ going to have him. Dark's harsh grip and greedy mouth were the closest he was ever going to get, and even that was a bitter thing, a substitute that couldn't even come close, no matter how much he wanted it to, because Dark had satisfied nothing but a carnal desire, a need to be touched, and he may have smoothed out the raw edges around his heart, but he was still so utterly broken.

Jack didn't even notice he was crying until the first sob wracked his body. Tears were falling thick from burning cheeks, and suddenly he was leaning forward, the twisting pain in his chest, the weight on his shoulders, too much for him to stand up straight anymore as he set his coffee on the counter with shaky fingers. Mark didn't love him. Mark would _never_ love him. Jack had pined uselessly for so long. _For nothing_.

It was like someone had removed some critical stone in a foundation, that one point that everything rested on, and Jack crumbled in his quiet kitchen. The mug _clanged_ harshly on the counter, bittersweet liquid splashing across the marble as Jack's fingers moved to grasp desperately at the counter's edge, holding on to something, _anything_ as the sobs wracked through his body. His legs held for a heartbeat, two, and then they bent, just a little, then more, and more, and he was falling, sliding down to crouch on the floor, hands still clinging to the countertop as he shoved his forehead against the cool cabinet door and sobbed.

He was never going to have him. He was never going to be his. Jack was going to live his entire life without ever knowing what his lips felt like brushing softly against his, what it felt like to have sleepy eyes staring down at him adoringly from under messy hair, what it felt like to be loved by Mark Fischbach. It wasn't his to have. It never would be. And there was nothing he could ever do about that.

His familiar apartment wrapped silent arms around him as he cried on his kitchen floor, and only the creaking in the walls was there to answer him.

  


* * *

  


It was another week before Jack got to talk to Mark again. He was back into his routine, putting out his regular videos, goofing with Robin, planning some livestreams and trying to get into the habit of cooking a nice dinner every night. Which was much harder than he expected.

It was early afternoon when he got the message asking if he wanted to hop on a call. Which would mean early morning for Mark. Odd, but that was enough to make him accept the request without stressing about it too much. It was just a call after all. No video. He wouldn't have to look him in the eye.

"Hey, Mark," Jack greeted in his usual exuberant voice, shifting in his chair and tugging at his shorts, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. "Whatchya doin' callin' me so early?"

"Hey man," Mark greeted in return, and his voice was sleep-rough and low, sending bitter shivers up Jack's spine. "Figured I'd call you at an appropriate time for once."

Jack chuckled at that, memories of a dozen 2AM skype calls from years past, and that familiar pang echoed through his chest.

"Yeah, weird to talk to yeh when the sun's still out."

"Hey, I haven't been that bad . . . recently."

"Mark, last time yeh called me at _four_."

"Wha- I had to!"

"Yeh were just telling me about something stupid Wade said!"

"Well, you needed to know!" Mark's voice had raised several degrees, pitchy and whiny now. Goofy. Familiar. _Safe_. "And you were up anyway."

"Yeh shoulda been tellin' me to go teh bed, not keepin' me up later. I saw the _sunrise_ , Mark."

"Worth it," Mark mutter, and Jack snorted, not about to deny it, even for the joke. It had been. Absolutely worth it. There was something about talking deep in the night that let you talk about things you couldn't say in the daylight hours, or even early evening. Only in the alien embrace of deep night could they talk about the things that scared them, that made them sad, the things that were weird to say in the middle of the day but just felt open and genuine in the dark.

Like talking about the demon lurking in Mark's body.

"Yeah, so speaking of Dark . . ."

Mark's voice had lost the whiny pitch, and he'd almost muttered the words into his mic, soft, like he hoped Jack wouldn't hear. The Irishman perked, sitting forward in his chair, ready and eager for whatever Mark needed to say in an instant. Not because he cared about Dark. But . . . he was the only one Mark could talk about this with. And he'd come to relish the times the American would open up to him about the creature because . . . well, it was special. It was the only thing he had that Mark would never do with anyone else. Just for him.

The only thing that would ever be just for him.

"What's up?" Jack asked, voice clear and open, not prodding but inviting. "Is he acting up again?"

"No," was Mark's immediate reply, and he sounded surprised. "No, he's been, uh . . . he's been behaving recently. Really behaving. Not sure what's up. But uh . . ."

Mark paused and Jack waited patiently, unsure what else to say. Part of him was wondering if it was even possible that Dark's behavior had anything to do with what had happened, but the rest of him just didn't want to know.

"They found out . . . what happened. You know, to the woman who got attacked? And, ah, pretty sure Dark didn't have anything to do with it."

"Good," Jack said in a rush, the word sounding too emphatic to his ears, but he knew Mark would appreciate it. "I didn't think he coulda, but I'm glad we know it now."

"Yeah, I just . . . _god_ , I was scared Jack. Like, it's been so long since I've been that kind of scared, and it was just . . . everything was so much like what it used to be. And I just couldn't imagine going back to . . . _that_."

"It's okay, Mark," Jack murmured softly, his chest aching at the echoes of fear he could still hear in his friend's voice. "Dark's not gonna try that shit anytime soon. He's just as tired of fightin' as you are, 'm sure."

"Yeah . . . yeah, I think he is. But just . . . god, I feel so helpless when he gets like that. He's _so strong_ , and just . . ."

"Hey, if he starts his shit again, you just send 'im teh me. Jackaboy'll take care of his 'tude."

Mark snorted, and the sound released the tension building in his chest, drawing a smile from the Irishman as he stared at his empty screen, eyes searching across his desktop as if he could actually see him there.

"I'm just picturing you in that stupid red spandex, like, jumping into the room and just-"

"You! Demon!" Jack cut across him, putting on his Jackieboy Man voice. "Behave!"

"Behave!" Mark barked, the strain in his voice leaving as he started to laugh in earnest. "You're gonna tell Dark to 'behave'? What, is he a misbehaving child?"

"Inside voices! Chew yer food! Eat yer broccoli!"

The sound of Mark's laughter, stuttering and wheezy, was like a beautiful melody, echoing around Jack's ears as he pushed on.

"You will behave! Now KNEEL BEFORE ME!"

"KNEEL! Ahahahahah, Jack, what-"

"I said KNEEL!" He could hear nothing but heavy breathing between loud laughter from Mark's side, and he was grinning from ear to ear. "Kneel before the Jack. Kneel before your lord, JACKIEBOY MAN!"

"I'm just . . . I'm just picturing Dark's face," Mark struggled to wheeze out between heavy breathes. "And he's just looking at you like . . . like . . . what the fuck is this man."

"I'm Jackieboy Man," Jack answered easily, his voice back to its normal level as if he hadn't been shouting obnoxiously just moments before. "All kneel before Jackieboy Man, didn't yeh know?"

"Do they?"

The laughter froze in Jack's throat, ice spreading through his veins as he recognized the voice. Mark's laughter was gone, cut off in a second to replaced by a cold tone and carefully crafted words that sent shivers down Jack's spine, and Jack was tempted to slam the disconnect button and flee from the sudden moment he'd found himself in.

Dark had _never_ talked to him over the computer like this before. He'd seen him in brief flashes in some video chats, usually just at the end, when they were disconnecting, like he wanted a quick glimpse. But he _never_ spoke. He never stayed more than a split second before he was gone again, and he never demanded attention. He was just there, like a cat watching him from its perch.

It'd been so _fast_. And despite how immediately his brain recognized the voice, how instantaneously part of him accepted that the demon had taken over, the logical part of him wanted to fight that. Mark had _just_ been speaking, there was _no_ reason for him to be here, and he couldn't actually see him to confirm he was there.

". . . Dark?"

A low rumble sounded in response, on the edges of his hearing, a creaking like an old house settling, and Jack shivered, suddenly wishing he was wearing thicker clothes. His apartment wasn't feeling quite so cozy anymore.

"Yes," came the low response, even the single word holding that strange inflection, the way he dragged out the word and clipped it just so. It sounded like him - just like him - but Dark could mimic Mark's voice almost perfectly, and there was some unreasonable fear settling in his stomach, because talking to Dark without knowing _for sure_ it was Dark was a hell of a minefield.

"Did yeh," Jack started, before pausing to swallow around his suddenly dry mouth. "Did yeh need something, or . . ."

"Ah, Jack," came the voice again, and it was pitching into that low, predatory croon once more, like he was stalking him from across the room. "You sound like you don't want to talk to me."

"No," Jack said cautiously, drawing out the word as he tried to relax his grip on his desk. "Just . . . not sure what yer wantin'."

"I wanted to check in on you," Dark said, and Jack remembered a flash of the demon laying out in his lap, fingers trailing along his neck as he told him almost the same thing. He just wanted to "check in." Only, when he'd done it before, Jack was pretty sure it was just an excuse to . . . what would you call that? Courting? Hunting? Preparing to consume? And he couldn't exactly do any of those over a phone call.

"Okay," Jack said hesitantly, and his fingers had released the desk, only to grip harshly at his own knees, wishing he was wearing long pants, feeling oddly exposed despite the fact that was still alone in his apartment, and no one could see him. "I'm, uh . . . I'm okay, I guess? I mean . . . what did yeh actually want teh know?"

"You're overthinking this."

Jack paused, brow coming together in confusion as he stared at the familiar desktop behind Discord's dark skin. His heart was still stuttering in his chest, his mind on overdrive, making it impossible to get a clear thought out on the situation. Dark was here, talking to him over the computer. Where he had no way of touching him, or getting anything out of him. There was no immediate benefit to this, and no honest proof that it was absolutely Dark that he was talking to, and he had no idea what to do with any of this.

"Am I?" he asked, his voice strained. "I . . . yer not . . . supposed teh talk teh me like this. Yeh never did, and I'm just . . . I don't know what yeh want."

"To talk," came the easy reply, and Jack snorted incredulously.

"About what?"

"What do people talk about?"

"What?"

"What do you and Mark talk about?"

"Collabs, and what we're gonna do this week, or what happened last week, or . . . I don't know. We just talk."

"Then just talk."

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't?"

"Why?"

"Are you serious?" Jack finally spat, the frustration exploding out of his chest in an exasperated huff, hands coming up in irritation, despite his lack of audience. "What do you want?! I don't have nothin' teh talk to yeh about, Dark. Yer not my friend. I didn't _choose_ teh . . . teh _hang out_ with you, or whatever. Yeh just decided that on yer own."

Silence hung between them for a moment, no response from the other line as Jack jittered in nervous irritation, one hand coming up to run roughly through his hair. He had no idea what to do with this strangely talkative Dark, no idea what he was supposed to say, or what the creature wanted. It was bad enough when he was trying to molest him every chance he got, now he wanted to . . . what, chat about the weather or something? Life was confusing enough without constant interruptions from an unwanted demon, and he wasn't in the mood to coddle or mollify.

His heart was still too ragged for that.

"What do yeh _want_ , Dark. I don't understand what yeh want from me. Why can't yeh just . . . just _leave me alone_ , pretend I don't exist, like yeh do with _everyone else_ -"

"You're not like everyone else."

Jack stopped, open-mouthed, his hand still held in the air from where he'd been waving it in frustration, and stared at the screen in disbelief.

"What?" It was a stupid response, the venom ripped from his words by sheer surprise, leaving only that too-light tone once more.

"You think I do this with everyone?" Dark asked, and his voice had pitched lower, a trace of . . . irritation in his tone, and Jack couldn't stop the cold shiver that ran through him at the sound. "Do you think . . . that I chase after any of his other _idiotic_ friends the way I do you? You think I'm concerned for them? Think that I take care of them, give them what they need, treat them gentle? Do you really _think_ . . . I'd want to fuck _any_ of them but you?"

Whelp. There was that. He was either really talking to Dark . . . or Mark already knew.

Jack's voice was barely a whisper when he replied. "Yeh've never even met 'em."

That same creaking rumble crackled through the air, just around the edges of his hearing, and Jack took a moment to process the strange echoing metallic sound that came with it as the creature's laughter.

"I've met every one of his _friends_ ," he spat the word, like acid on his tongue, and there was a coldness seeping into Jack's body, like he was sitting next to the creature once more, feeling that void suck all of the warmth and energy out of the room. Only worse now. Because this wasn't him calm and collected. There was anger in him now, and it seemed to change everything. "I've met them all, each and every one. And _none_ of them were _anything_ like _you_."

Jack could almost feel his presence on his skin now, like he was leaning over him, blocking out the world with his flickering frame, and everything suddenly looked monotone and empty.

"Did you know the little one screamed? I didn't even _touch_ him, didn't get _hardly_ as close to him as I did you. And he screamed. Like I was some fairy tale monster coming to eat him in the night. And the other, the big one, so stoic and hard, and he couldn't even find his voice when I approached him. Couldn't speak a single word. They cry, or beg, or sob, or flee. They break down before me like lambs before a lion."

He could hear the deep breath the creature took, shuddering and long, and Jack felt himself following the action, trying to wrestle his own pounding heart back into his chest.

"And then there's you, my pet. You just _watched_ , with those pretty blue eyes. Fear in you, but not controlling you. You watched me - you _spoke_ to me. You looked the devil in the eye, and you didn't flinch."

A pause, a heartbeat, a breath, and then that voice again, so low and crooning and _sweet_.

"Such a lovely little thing."

Jack shied away from the praise, ripping his eyes from the monitor like he'd been staring the creature in the face, glaring at his keyboard instead as his hands fell to his lap. He could already feel the flush creeping up his skin, prickling across his cheeks, up his spine, just from that stupid voice calling him _pretty_ of all things, and he had to bite his tongue to stop the sound of frustration climbing up his throat. He didn't want to continue along this line of conversation.

"Why don't they remember you, then?" Jack asked in that too-light voice again. Like a normal conversation. Even as his chest tightened painfully around his heart. "They've never said nothin' about yeh."

"Did you?" Dark asked, and there was amusement in his voice now, the tension bleeding from the conversation as he imagined the creature settling back in his chair, that self-satisfied smirk gracing Mark's distorted face. Jack paused at that, thinking back to that first time, how he'd managed to convince himself it had never happened. It'd been frighteningly easy, now that he thought about it, to just . . . forget. Blue eyes darted to the screen once more, and he narrowed them slowly as he considered.

"So . . . what, they just think yeh were a nightmare or somethin'?"

"I don't care what they think." And the utter apathy in the words, the coldness in his voice, shocked Jack. The idea that he was special, that Dark acted any differently with him than he would with anyone else, had never crossed his mind. Not that he'd thought he was prowling after anyone else just then, but he'd always assumed he would, if given the chance. But that tone, the emptiness in it, distant, aloof . . . was that how he dealt with everyone else?

Was that how he dealt with Mark?

"What do yeh want, Dark?" Jack asked after another moment of silence, his shoulders slumping in an odd kind of defeat as he brought a hand up to his forehead, pushing back against the headache trying to form. "What do yeh want me teh say? Are yeh lookin' for . . . validation or something? I let yeh fuck me, that doesn't mean I want yeh."

Something twisted in his gut as he said it, a fear still in the back of his mind that someone would hear that who shouldn't. But he shoved it away as he continued.

"I was upset, Dark. I was hurt. Yeh knew I loved him, and I just . . ." Jack stopped to look around the room, like he'd find some words to make this easier there. He could feel the tightening in his chest, in his throat, and he refused to cry again.

He'd done enough of that this last week.

"Go away, Dark. Please? 'M not . . . I wanna talk teh Mark, alright? 'M not in the mood fer this . . . yer games, or whatever. I just wanna talk teh Mark."

Silence hung between then, stretching for a heartbeat, two, three, and Jack felt that something twisting in his gut again, ugly and painful, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop the sound climbing up his throat once more.

"He's going to keep hurting you." His voice was low, a promise, but there was something under it that Jack refused to put a name to.

"That's none of your business."

The rumble went through the air again and Jack shivered, turning away from the monitor as he ran fingers through his fried hair.

"Go, Dark. Give me Mark back. And next time, if you wanna come see me, maybe _ask_. I'd be a lot less pissed if yeh'd stop poppin' outta the fuckin' woodwork like a needy whack-a-mole."

The silence stretched again, and Jack fought the urge to . . . what? Run? Or apologize maybe. The urge to back down from the harsh line he had drawn. The creature had been forgiving with him so far, had . . . well, perhaps not respected his wishes, but honored his commands at the least. But this conversation had done well to remind him that Dark wasn't necessarily . . . tolerant. And he wasn't sure how far his patience would run.

After a few more tense moments, Dark's low voice rumbled through his headphones.

"If that's what you want, my sweet."

And then he was gone, Mark's voice reviving, bright and bubbly, coming down a bit to ask what Dark had wanted, and Jack smiled at his screen, the action feeling forced but right as he brushed it off, and asked the American what he'd been up to since he'd left.

And Mark, sweet, beautiful, oblivious Mark, didn't push a single inch further as he launched into an animated tale about fighting Ethan for a hotdog, and Jack closed his eyes and let his voice wash over him and sooth out the coiling tension building in his gut.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed to the tune of [Delilah by Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lO0VibjAQ7w) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk).

"Hey, so uh . . ."

Jack glanced up from the little spot he'd been pressing into his keyboard's wrist pad, eyebrows coming up in interest as if Mark could actually see him. They'd been on the call for almost an hour now, just talking, catching up after the two or so weeks since their last call, and they'd started to slow in their conversations, getting sidetracked, working on other things as the talks started to naturally peter out. It was a common practice with Mark, to chat until they ran out of things to chat about, at which point Mark'd usually bid Jack good night. But not tonight, it seemed.

"Yeah, what's up?" Jack prompted, rubbing the sleep that had started to seep into his eyes. His clock showed it was just a little past 1AM - not too bad, considering his usual sleep schedule would often have him up later. But something about Mark's voice tonight, low and soothing, was making him think of soft pillows and cool sheets, and he wasn't about to say no to a reasonable bedtime.

"So, weird question, but uh," he started, and he sounded cautious, like he was nervous to ask. Jack could feel the corners of his mouth turning up in a little smile, even as tension threatened in his gut, both only growing as Mark paused, letting silence hang between them.

"Go on," he urged, and he heard the little snort of annoyance Mark gave him.

"Well . . . uh . . . Dark is . . . Dark is asking to see you?"

The sleepiness bled from him like water from a punctured canteen, and he sat up a little straighter, adjusting himself in his comfortable chair as he eyed his computer screen with mild suspicion.

"Dark wants teh see me?"

"Yeah." Mark's voice sounded almost sheepish, and he cleared his throat, the discomfort in his voice painfully easy to hear. "I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, but he's, uh . . . I don't know, he's being really polite about it? And he said you-" Mark paused to take a deep, almost shaky breath. "-told him to?"

"Oh."

It was all he could manage for a moment, his previously sleep-addled brain working overtime to try to catch back up. He'd honestly put the demon as far out of his mind as was possible over the last couple of weeks, burying himself in his work and a new project he was considering with Ethan. He didn't _want_ to think about him, if he could help it. He got enough of those hungry eyes in his dreams, and maybe in those quiet moments in the shower, when he stood under the scalding water and let it run freely across his head, plastering a curtain of green hair across his eyes.

The point was, he'd made a concerted effort to _avoid_ devoting any brain time to Dark, and as such, he hadn't yet worked out how he felt about this whole . . . _talking_ to him thing. It felt weird, and awkward, and just another reminder of something that he was actively trying to forget. He was struggling enough holding everything together, he didn't need to add the confusing mix of yearning and disgust he felt for the creature. And yet . . . 

Dark was asking. Dark was actually asking to come see him, instead of just popping up on his own whims. And despite the fact that he'd asked him to, and despite the fact that Dark had only ever done as he asked, that fact alone was still shocking.

What must that have been like in Mark's head? Mark, though occasionally shy to talk about the creature in general, was never shy about the nature of their relationship. They'd found a tentative peace, but the scars were still there, and Dark didn't beg him for anything. Their battles were all bullheadedness and pride, neither wanting to yield, clashing like rams, or bears, or something else visceral and manly and violent, and their negotiations were always ended on bitter words with neither party happy.

So what must it have been like for Mark to hear Dark _ask_ instead of take? What must it have been like to be treated like a human instead of an enemy? There was certainly awkwardness in his friend's tone, but he could hear that touch of wonderment, not as alien as Jack thought it should be. It must have been weird. Odd. But maybe . . . maybe a little nice?

The idea that he could in any way soothe the discord between them had never occured to Jack, but it was too tantalizing now to turn away from. Maybe he didn't really want to talk to Dark just then. Maybe he still didn't know what the hell he was supposed to talk to him about. Maybe he still didn't want to hear his crooning voice, even if it was only that from thousands of miles away. But it would be . . . remiss of him, not to enforce this preferable behavior.

"Uh," Jack started, and shifted in his chair, cringing at the way it squeaked quietly and swallowing harshly around the nervous knot forming in his throat. "Sure. If he wants teh see me, I guess that's, uh . . . I guess that's fine."

"You don't have to, you know."

Jack snorted at that, letting the corners of his lips turn up in a nervous grin. "I know, Mark. I can hit the disconnect button any time. S'not like he's in my room or nothin'."

Mark was silent for a moment, and Jack could almost see the look of concern, of distrust, of _discomfort_ on his face, so he pressed on.

"I'm just glad he fuckin' asked fer once, man. And I don't mind talkin' for a bit, if it'll make him less of an ass."

That got a strained chuckle from the American, and he felt his lips pulling broader, the smile still nervous, but genuine.

"More of a dick, but yeah, maybe." He paused a moment, and Jack let him, unsure what to say as his brain tried to accommodate the new fact of seeing Dark in just a few moments - a fact that had his gut twisting up in funny ways. "Okay. Alright, well look, just . . . don't let him be too much of a dick, yeah? Feel free to hang up on him, or call me if you need me. He shouldn't be strong enough to stop me from coming back right now, so."

"I will, Mark," Jack told him, and his voice sounded so calm, relaxed, like this was completely normal. He was starting to wonder if he was actually capable of showing fear in his voice, or if he just didn't have that setting on his vocal chords. "Yer comin' back when we're done, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll be back after, so, uh . . . I guess I'll talk to you then?"

"Yeah," Jack said, and the only thing that showed the way his stomach was clenching painfully, and his head was swimming with anxiety, and his heart was battering itself against his ribcage was the way his voice pitched just a lower on the word. "See you soon, Mark."

"Yep. See you soon, Jack."

There was silence for a moment. Then a sound, light and faint, maybe a breath, a sigh. And then it was Dark's low voice rumbling through his headphones.

"Hello Jack."

  


* * *

  


Jack had had no idea what to expect from Dark when he got there, no idea what it was that he wanted from him. Or at least what he could possibly gain over a Discord call. Thoughts of low threats or purred offers, reminders of what had happened or bitter conversations on the topic of Mark had all flashed through his mind. But when he asked what he wanted, the answer was the same as last time.

Dark just wanted to talk.

It was awkward. A little. Not as bad as it could have been. Dark seemed to be in a fair mood, mellow almost, and mostly happy to listen rather than fuck with him. Which was nice, but also left Jack providing most of the conversation. Not that he'd trade it for Dark's predatory-like taunts, but it did leave him struggling for topics.

The demon seemed to take pity on him after he flailed to find something other than the usual "how are you"s, and asked what he'd been working on. Not that Jack thought for a moment that it interested him, but he told him nonetheless - explained his recent games, briefly mentioned his idea with Ethan, talked about how he was thinking about repainting and maybe redesigning his living room. Dark asked for colors in a neutral tone, and Jack managed to launch into a five-minute rant on the ideas he'd been going over in his head the last few days.

It was weird. And not something he'd ever expected to be doing. But . . . well, he was in a stronger mood recently, his comfortable routine washing away the stress and anxiety of the trip, shoving it to the back of his mind and allowing him to focus on what was important just then. And he didn't mind the whole . . . talking thing. If this was all it took to placate Dark, he could tolerate that. A few minutes of awkward conversation every now and then and he could smooth out some of the tension between the trio? Absolutely worth it.

Now if only he could figure out what Dark was up to, this whole thing would be fine.

"Seems . . . bright," the demon rumbled after Jack finally paused to catch his breath. He'd said maybe a dozen words since they started, all low and clipped, the usual careful crafting evident in their sound, but the crooning wasn't quite there. He didn't sound like he was hunting him for once. And it made Jack feel strangely . . . at ease.

"Yeah, I want more light. The living room's always been that kinda sky blue with the accent wall, and it's nice, but it kinda makes the whole place feel darker with only the one window. I figure if I get the right color palette I can make it light up like a summer day."

"Hmm," came Dark's low response, more a growl than a hum, but Jack was starting to realize that was just how he spoke. He didn't seem to be able to do anything without some kind of . . . intensity.

He wasn't sure if that was just a demon thing, or if he was always genuinely that intense.

"I'm sure your eyes are enough blue for any home."

That put a screeching halt to Jack's easy ranting, his mouth parting in surprise as words suddenly failed him. That was . . . weird. Cheesy, maybe. Or just . . . over the top. The kind of shit you read in a romance novel or in flowery poetry. Not the kind of thing you said out loud, because people didn't talk like that.

And he should be uncomfortable with it, because that was dangerously close to courting. Or flirting maybe, but courting seemed the better term for Dark, and he was so very good without introducing that into his already overly complicated life.

And yet . . . he didn't . . . _dislike_ it. And it didn't sound so wrong . . . coming from Dark. Which was troubling, when he stopped to think about it, but he didn't want to think about that just then as he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

"Yeah, they probably clashed a bit," he conceded with a breathy laugh, unable to get his vocal chords to behave long enough to chuckle properly. "But I'm'a fix it, no problem. I think I might go out tomorrow actually, see if I can find that little shop that advertises up the road. They're supposed to do . . ."

Dark let him fall back into rambling, and Jack talked until he'd exhausted every possible redecorating topic he could come up with. Which turned out to be a surprising amount of time. Then again, he'd perfected the art of filling dead air with several years of the whole YouTube thing under his belt. When silence fell between them again, it didn't feel quite so awkward as it had at the start, and Jack found he wasn't . . . unhappy. It was weird, but it was . . . fine.

Not great. But fine.

"That's enough," Dark murmured after Jack started into another anecdote and the Irishmen snapped his mouth closed sharply, his stomach doing something funny at the words. He didn't sound annoyed, but the words alone were enough to make Jack squirm in embarrassment, as if he'd been caught talking over people or some other social faux pas. Not that he really gave a shit about social faux pas with Dark of all people, but at the same time, he was mortified that he might have made an ass of himself.

Dark seemed to pick up on the tone of the sudden silence.

"I have to go," he clarified in a softer voice, and there was amusement in his tone, as if he was laughing at the Irishman's discomfort, and Jack grit his teeth as his chagrin only worsened.

"Oh," Jack managed, his voice a little tighter than was necessary. "Alright, well, uh . . . nice talkin' teh yeh then."

The demon rumbled, a pleased sound. "Nice talking to you, _Jack_." And there was that way he said his name again, like he caressed it with his lips, his tongue, before letting it fall from his mouth, and Jack fought the weird warmth prickling up his spine at that sound.

"I'll see you soon," Dark purred, and then he was gone again, the tense air surrounding Jack in his quiet room dissipating in a heartbeat as he heard Mark's tentative voice.

"Jack?"

"God, he's so fuckin' weird," Jack managed with a choked laugh in lieu of an answer, letting the tension run from his limbs as he stretched, feeling his back pop in delight.

"Was it okay?"

"We talked about decorating."

And then Mark was snorting, an incredulous noise, his voice picking up high as he asked for clarification, and pretty soon they were both laughing, joking, making light of the whole thing, and none of it seemed so bad. He could handle that. He could tolerate it. For Mark and for himself, if it stopped the demon from being much of a problem.

And maybe his dreams were starting to feature the creature more than he would like, but that seemed such a little thing to fuss about. It wasn't like he was sleeping much anyway.

  


* * *

  


"Are we gonna talk about m'living room again?"

Jack sat back in his chair with a mild scowl staring at his screen, still open to photoshop and the thumbnail he'd been working on. He hadn't minded Mark interrupting his work, because it was easy enough to continue through their usual easy conversation, and also because it was _Mark_. But he hadn't signed up for a new conversation with the demon. Which was exactly what had been requested.

"Do you have something new to add on the topic?" Dark's voice was easy, comfortable as he responded, a curl to his words that told Jack he was smiling, and he scowled a little harder at the way his skin pricked at the sound. He'd dreamt of that voice last night, nothing explicitly sexual about the things he did or said, but he still woke with an awkward case of morning wood that felt far too connected for his comfort.

That was certainly tamer than what had happened between them in real life, but it bothered him so much more. Reality could be written off by his wrecked emotional state, a need for comfort that the demon had been a little too eager to supply. A one-time thing. A one-time need. A tonic to his broken heart and body, and that's all it was. But dreaming about him was . . . well, he didn't like it.

It was taking up time he could be dreaming of the way Mark's eyes crinkle up when he laughed, anyway.

"No," Jack shot back, and the word was a little sharper than it needed to be. He wanted to end the call, go back to working on the stupid thumbnail, get it done and maybe go dig up something unhealthy to eat while he watched a movie or something.

He could, if he wanted to.

But he didn't.

"Just wondering what the hell yeh want. As usual."

Dark made a noise low in his throat, a sound between a hum and a growl, and he could almost feel his presence on his skin, his attention like a palpable thing.

"Irritated, Jack?" Stop saying his name. He hated the sound of it. "Something wrong tonight?"

There was a hint of amusement in his voice. Like he somehow knew where his annoyance stemmed from, and Jack wanted to snap at him again, tell him off and tear into him like he had the first time Dark had tried this. He'd go away if he told him to. It could be so easy, and he could just go back to burying himself in his work.

But he'd be back. There was no point in running from him. If Mark was there, he could be there. The only way he could get away from Dark would be to get away from Mark. And he didn't want to, so . . .

"Why do yeh do this, Dark?" Jack asked, and he didn't sound quite so sharp now, as if the reminder that this was inevitable had drained the anger from him. Now he sounded tired, but there was a genuine spark of curiosity there as well. "Why do yeh want to talk to me? Aren't there . . . I don't know, better things you could be doing? Why come listen while I talk about nothin'?"

There was silence for a moment, not heavy, but there, and Jack could almost feel Dark considering the question, rolling it around it that alien mind of his before he finally purred his answer.

"It can be . . . _dull_ here. You provide a pleasant distraction."

Jack took a moment to absorb his words, only a little surprised by them. More by the odd genuine sound to his tone than anything. But he'd assumed it had been boredom related. Staying locked up in Mark's head must be . . . well, it probably sucked.

Not that Dark hadn't earned his prison, but Jack could still feel a touch of sympathy for him.

"Okay, but there's gotta be better distractions out there."

"None half so pretty, my sweet."

Jack cringed, yanking his eyes away from the screen to glare at the wall, nostrils flaring and cheeks heating up swiftly, like he was standing under the sun on a scorching day. Dark seemed to say things like that without hesitation, the words rolling off his tongue like a greeting rather than some weird predatory poetry. And despite his discomfort and annoyance at the gesture, it never failed to send odd electricity through his body.

"Yeh can't even see me," Jack shot back in annoyance, his voice pitching low, almost to an angry mumble, but Dark's growling chuckle told him he'd heard.

"I never said it was just your body that's pretty, pet."

"Not yer pet." The response was immediate, but mechanical as he struggled with the warring reaction to his words. On the one hand it was a delicious kind of praise, spoken with utter sincerity, and he hadn't heard anything of the like in _so long_. It lit him up in all the right ways. On the other, it was Dark giving that praise, and he still wanted to sock the creature - just once, just _one good time_ \- watch him reel back in pain and surprise instead of just getting whatever he wanted, because that shit wasn't fair.

"No," Dark crooned back in agreement. "Pets are obedient. Subservient. You're more like a bird, aren't you? Some bright songbird, sitting just out of reach, singing your pretty tune and flashing those pretty feathers. Sweet and broken and perfect."

"I'm not yer bird neither, Dark," Jack snorted, lips tight around the words as his heart raced in his throat. He didn't like this conversation. He didn't like the pet names. He didn't like the way the blood was pounding his ears as he tried to block out the strange feeling creeping up his spine. He wanted to go back to mundane things like paint colors and carpet types, and not what appropriately cute thing Dark was going to call him.

"Oh, but what I wouldn't give to have you sing for me again, Jack."

"Stop," Jack breathed out, and there was definitely some form of discomfort in his voice now. Just not the discomfort that should have been there. He was swallowing around a sick arousal, an interest he didn't want to go near with a ten foot pole, and he was bewildered and frustrated. "Please. Just stop . . . doing that."

"Why?" came the crooned reply, and Jack could picture his wolfish grin, the way his eyes were dark and intense, the odd tilt to his head that was so distinctly _Dark_. "I'm only speaking the truth. I would give . . . _anything_ to watch you come apart under me right now. Feel you _trembling_ under my hands as I turn you into a ruin once more. Hear that lovely voice sobbing my name-"

" _Stop,_ " Jack begged, and there was an odd pitch to his voice now as he wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to hold back the heated way his body was struggling to draw breaths. It felt like someone had burned him across his cheeks, and the blood was pounding in his ears, rushing loudly as it raced towards his rising erection. "Why do yeh _insist_ on doing this?"

"Because you enjoy it, little lamb."

"I do _not_ ," Jack tried to spit, but it came out more hoarse than anything, rasping around a throat tight with shame. That voice was in the back of his head again, telling him not to lie, _not to lie_ , not to him. He _wanted_ to hate it. He _wanted_ to. He didn't want _him_. "Don't tell me what I like, Dark. I _don't_ like it. It's . . ."

_Gross._

Jack snapped his jaw shut harshly, his stomach flipping, and he shied away from that, taking a deep, shaky breath, and trying to push his wild emotions back under control.

"Yeh didn't answer my question," he tried after another moment, his voice still sounding unsteady as he fought the erratic beat of his heart. "Why do yeh want to talk to me? About _nothing_ , no less. Isn't it boring?"

"Not half so boring as watching this boy's petty life." Dark's tone dropped lower at the words, and there was a . . . a sourness to it that sounded foreign to Jack's ears, a sudden turn that he hadn't expected, and the hair on the back of his neck was prickling for reasons entirely unpleasant now. "Would you like it better if we talked about him? The Clueless Wonder, so caught up in his own selfish world that he can't even see the little gem right under his nose?"

Dark snarled - it was the only way Jack could describe the noise he made - a harsh noise of irritation that sounded almost feral on his lips, and Jack wanted to shy away from it, shy away from the sudden anger before him, despite the miles and technology between then.

"I could tell you whatever you wanted to know," Dark continued, and he was growling the words, low in his throat, sounding almost savage. Like an animal. Like a _demon_. "Would that interest you more? I could tell you what he likes to eat. What his favorite places to go are. What he really thinks of his friends, of his fans. I could tell you what makes him happy, what makes him sad, what makes him angry. I could tell you what he jacks off to, what gets him excited, what he says when he's fucking. I could tell you all the little errant thoughts that pass through his pathetic mind every day, what he thinks about _you_. Would that interest you more, darling? Would you be more excited to speak with me if it was about _him?_ "

"Dark," Jack whispered, and it was tentative and quiet, pitching oddly as he swallowed around the blood rushing in his ears. Dark's anger was almost a physical presence in the room, radiating off of him in palpable waves even over this limited medium. And still it wasn't the obvious danger signals the creature was sending off that had Jack desperately wanting him to stop.

Dark made a noise, low in his throat, something between a groan and a sigh, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, tired.

"Am I scaring you, my sweet?"

"Yes," Jack told him simply, and it wasn't a lie. It wasn't the growling voice and the seething anger that frightened him. It was his words. It was the idea of Dark telling him _anything_ to do with Mark. Because he didn't want to hear it. Not from him. Not from a creature as brutally honest as him.

There was a beat, a moment of silence, hanging in the air like a blade, before Jack heard a soft breath, and when Dark spoke again, his voice was low and controlled once more, only the slightest hint of strain beneath the smooth edges.

"Tell me what you did today."

It was a command more than a request, but Jack recognized it for what it was - an appeal for a change in subject - and he wasn't about to turn down a chance to get away from this confusing mess of a conversation.

So despite his discomfort, and despite Dark's outburst, and despite the fact that he'd give _anything_ to be talking to Mark instead, Jack took a steadying breath and launched into a fairly animated recreation of his day, and the last week for good measure, not bothering to wait for input from the demon as he ranted. It was just talking, filling the space and taking up time before Dark had to leave again and he could continue his regularly scheduled life.

And Dark let him ramble without a sound, a wall of silence on the other side of an ocean, invisible but present, and didn't interrupt until long after Jack had forgotten why he was chattering in such an incessant manner.

"Alright," Jack said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his messy hair, tone weary but joking. "Same time next week then?"

Dark's answer was a low rumble, deep in his chest, a wordless affirmation, and Jack ignored the way his hands tingled, a flashing memory of the way that rumble felt against his palms.

"Okay, well, ah . . . nice talkin' to yeh, Dark."

"Goodbye, little finch," came the demon's purred reply, and Jack scowled at that, a little sound of light-hearted irritation slipping past his lips.

"Are yeh just- . . . I'm gonna start comin' up with stupid names fer you if yeh keep this shit up."

"There's nothing you could call me that I would be displeased with, Jack."

His voice was sure and smooth when he said it, curling around his name just right, and Jack scowled harder at his screen, teeth grinding together in light pressure as he flared his nostrils at the claim. Challenge fucking accepted then.

"We'll see about that, _princess_ ," Jack shot back, tilting his chin back with a gleam in his eye, despite knowing damn well that Dark couldn't see him, and there was no point. He heard a little sound from the other side, a soft breath, hardly there, but the Irishman recognized the laugh for what it was, and oooh, he was gonna spend the next hour looking up the stupidest nicknames he could find until he found something that would shut the smug fuck up. Dark was too damn proud to accept such degradation for long, Jack was sure. He'd find something he hated.

"Goodnight, Jack," Dark murmured, a smile in his voice, and the Irishman narrowed his eyes at the screen, hating the way that still made shivers run up his spine.

"G'night, yeh fuck," he said with a weary groan, hands already coming up to open his browser, thumbnail forgotten as he started on a stupid search and waited for Mark to return.

  


* * *

  


**Mark:** _To help you start your day right._

Jack glanced down at his phone as the words popped up, a quick notification flashing across his screen before it dimmed again in the early morning light. He blinked blearily, hand snaking out from beneath his warm little bundle of blankets to poke at the screen, glaring at it in mistrust. This was mega early for Mark to be texting him, and he was pretty sure those words meant he'd also sent a picture of some kind, and what the fuck kind of picture was Mark sending that would "help start his day right."

Unless it was a sexy selfie, he was pretty sure he was gonna regret opening this message.

And he definitely wasn't wrong. A quick swipe to his screen left him staring at what appeared to be a zebra, photoshopped with human eyes and what appeared to be rotting human teeth, and a big fat tongue lolling to one side - something about the quality of the work leaving behind a feeling of deep _discomfort_.

 **Jack:** _What the fuck Mark_

He typed back with angry jabs of his fingers, muffling the sound of his snorting laughter behind his pillow as he glared good-naturedly at the unsettling picture. A quick check of the time had him groaning and rolling his eyes as he typed out another message.

 **Jack:** _It's like 2am there man what are you doing sending me this shit??_

Mark's response was almost instant.

 **Mark:** _Just making sure you have your daily dose of cute._

Jack snorted, rolling his eyes as he pulled the blankets a little higher, until only his face was open to the chilly morning air, and typed out his reply with a stupid smile on his face.

 **Jack:** _And you didn't send me Chica?_

 **Jack:** _Talk about failing as a dog father_

Mark didn't respond right away, and Jack set the phone beside his pillow, screen up, fingers still wrapped around the glass. He snuggled further into his blankets, deciding to snooze a little more before he had to pull himself from his warm cocoon.

He could tell immediately he'd slept longer than he wanted when the vibrating device woke him again. Sleep-fuddled fingers fumbled for the phone, dragging it up to bleary eyes as he flipped open his messages.

What greeted him was another frightening photoshop amalgamation, only this time with familiar faces. Mark was crouched down next to a panting Chica, obviously in his office, hair messy and feet bare, with one arm wrapped around the sweet dog while the other presumably held the camera. Only certain parts of their faces had been switched - Mark's warm brown eyes were shining at him out of Chica's beady sockets, and where he should have been staring at the thin line of Mark's lips, he was instead greeted with a lolling dog tongue and big canines. It was like the damn "meow" video, only _so much worse_.

Beneath the monstrosity was a single message.

 **Mark:** _Better?_

Jack stared at the terrible creation, sleep chased from his mind, before his eyes darted up to check the time. Almost 11AM. That meant almost 4AM for Mark. And it took a few moments for the implications of that to fully hit him.

4AM. And he was pretty sure that picture was new, not one he pulled up from one of his feeds or off his phone. Mark had read Jack's message, gone to fetch Chica, taken the time to take a brand new picture with her, and spent _almost two hours_ editing it. Just for a joke.

For Jack.

His fingers felt numb as he typed out his reply, even as butterflies made sick arcs through his gut.

 **Jack:** _Oh my god_

**Jack:** _PLEASE tell me you did not stay up all night to make this_

 **Mark:** _Do you like it?_

Jack stared at his screen in shock, a flush working through his system, and he was trying so hard not to smile, because if he did, he'd probably cry.

Why was it impossible not to love this man?

 **Jack:** _NO I HATE IT_

 **Jack:** _IT'S GONNA HAUNT MY DREAMS_

 **Mark:** _BUT IT'S A CHICAMOO_

Jack snorted, free hand whipping out hard to catch the sound, digging into his cheeks as he struggled to contain the hysterical giggling he wanted to start into. Not this early. He was not starting this already. He knew where that kind of laughing was going to lead, and he didn't need to spend twenty minutes laugh-crying in his blanket cocoon.

He took a moment to compose himself before he let his fingers flip across the screen once more.

 **Jack:** _Well Chicamoo is my wallpaper now so it's your fault when the nightmares start_

 **Mark:** _Good._

 **Mark:** _I spent a long time on that, I'd be sad if it went to waste._

Jack smiled at that, rolling his eyes as he sighed into his pillow. There was a lot to get done today, and he'd already overslept. But the idea of extricating himself from his warm little coffin seemed painful just then. Especially when Mark was at his fingertips.

He sighed, fingers coming back to swipe at the screen, ready to tell the American to go to bed, because he really should. But then there was another message from Mark.

 **Mark:** _Dark says hi._

Jack froze, fingers hovering above the glass, rereading those three unassuming words several times before his mind seemed to catch up.

Dark . . . had asked Mark . . . to say hi for him.

That was something he'd never expected in the year he'd known the creature. And he honestly had no idea what to do with that information, besides what he'd been doing already - which was just roll with it.

A memory of their last talk, more than a week ago now, flashed through Jack's mind, and he found a tentative grin creeping up his face, unsure but eager, as he typed out a quick reply.

 **Jack:** _Hi Darkifart_

A moment passed. Then another. And another. And the brief feeling of confidence he'd had was quickly seeping out of him into the smothering warmth of his blankets when his phone finally buzzed again.

 **Mark:** _omg jack waht_

 **Mark:** _I think you broke him_

 **Mark:** _hes not saying anything_

 **Mark:** _I think he left_

 **Mark:** _oh my god_

 **Mark:** _I can't stop laughing_

The grin that split across Jack's face was too wide by half, painful and giddy as he clutched his phone and giggled, breathing through his teeth as he typed with shaking fingers.

 **Jack:** _BYE DARKIFART_

 **Mark:** _JACK WHAT THE HELL_

 **Jack:** _what_

 **Jack:** _I just said hi_

 **Mark:** _DO NOT GIVE MY DEMON CUTESY NICKNAMES WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU_

"HE STARTED IT" Jack started to type out, but then he paused, thinking better of it. That would start questions down a line he really didn't want to go down just then. He'd already gone too far, he did not need to be telling Mark exactly the kinds of things Dark liked to call him.

 **Jack:** _I'm fighting creepy with cute_

 **Jack:** _It's super effective_

 **Mark:** _You're not allowed to see him when you get here._

 **Mark:** _You'll start the demon apocalypse._

Jack grinned at that, partly at the idea of starting the demon apocalypse with stupid nicknames, and partly at the idea of Mark trying to stop Dark from seeing him.

He was pretty sure that'd be impossible at this point.

 **Mark:** _SPEAKING OF_

 **Mark:** _The 25th, right?_

A little _zing_ of excitement shot through Jack's stomach as he read that, eyes automatically glancing at the date in the top bar of his phone, counting down the days. Another month to go. Another month before PAX West, and Jack was off to see his favorite person in the world again, in person rather than just chatting over Discord and text.

 **Jack:** _lord Mark do you know how many videos I'd have to stockpile to do a whole nother week?_

 **Mark:** _I require your presence for a minimun of 5 days before we have to face The Thunderdome_

Jack snorted.

 **Mark:** _Come on man, we can record some stuff while you're here too, don't worry._

 **Jack:** _Yeah, but a whole week? What do you want me for a whole week for?_

 **Mark:** _Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack_

 **Mark:** _I'm gonna be lonely_

 **Jack:** _Bob and Wade are literally flying in the same day dude_

 **Mark:** _Yeah, but they're not staying with me_

 **Mark:** _They're getting hotels with their girlfriends like losers_

 **Mark:** _Bachelors gotta stick together man_

 **Mark:** _I need emotional support_

 **Jack:** _Get a dog_

 **Mark:** _I am_

 **Mark:** _He's coming from England_

 **Mark:** _He's one of them russel terrier things_

Jack had to stop and run a hand over his face, stifling the blush and the stupid laughter alike.

 **Jack:** _Okay, if you're just gonna make dad jokes, I'm not coming at all_

 **Mark:** _but Jaaaaaaaack_

 **Mark:** _Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack_

 **Jack:** _don't I swear to god_

 **Mark:** _Don't let go Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack_

 **Jack:** _I hate you._

 **Mark:** _No you don't_

 **Mark:** _You love me_

 **Mark:** _And that's why you'll be here on the 25th_

Jack stared at his phone screen, at the light skin of his messenger, and the bubbly lines of the theme, and those sharp, clear words written out with absolute certainty.

_"You love me"_

Oh, if only he knew how true that was.

 **Jack:** _Fiiiiiiiiiine_

Jack typed out the word as if with longsuffering patience. As if it was a chore. As if he didn't want to spend every waking moment of his life with that stupid idiot. As if that man had to do anything other than smile at him to have him doing whatever he asked.

 **Jack:** _But you're doing my editing while I'm there_

 **Mark:** _I'll be sure to add plenty of dicks_

 **Jack:** _I expect nothing less, Markimoo_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, all the nicknames used in this chapter were suggested by various Discord friends. I am no where near this clever.
> 
> Beta'd to the tune of [Bedroom Hymns by Florence + The Machine](https://youtu.be/A-vrYeVGGZ0) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

The weeks went by quicker than Jack would have expected, days blending into each other in a not-entirely-unpleasant manner as he recorded and planned and enjoyed his job. He spent an entire weekend redecorating his living room, though he ended up calling in painters rather than attempting that particular job himself, and he made sure to take pictures and send them to Mark.

And maybe they were a little for Dark too, but that didn't need to be said out loud.

He managed a surprising number of collabs over the next month, several with Robin, a few with Ethan, and a hefty handful with Mark and the boys, and they were all of them fun and boisterous and loud, and unerringly popular on his channel. And the fact that he hadn't found an excuse to collab with just Mark in that time was only a _little_ disappointing.

He talked with him a lot anyways. Sometimes in group calls, in and out of collabs, but surprisingly often with just the two of them. Calls with Mark were usually a once a week thing, if he was lucky, but there had been four in the week leading up to his PAX trip. And he didn't want to believe they had to do with Dark's insistence on seeing him, but . . .

It felt like he talked to the demon almost as much as he talked to Mark himself these days. The meetings were never long, and often almost mundane, but Jack was starting to get a certain . . . comfort with the creature. Enough so that he'd stuck with his game of coming up with nicknames in protest of Dark's endless slew of cutesy names, and he'd found it appropriately easy to offend him, despite his assurance that Jack wouldn't be able to bother him.

Especially when he used said nicknames around Mark.

He couldn't really say that there weren't still times that he hated the creature for taking up his precious time with Mark. Or that he wasn't still a smug fuck with too much of an ego. Or that there weren't still times he was waking up in the middle of the night, uncomfortably tense under imagined black eyes. But there were only so many times you could call someone "Darkle Sparkles" before you started to lose your fear of them.

Not that he'd had much of him to begin with, but still. He'd started to accept the creature's presence in the same way one might accept an annoying stray dog. Not something you would welcome into your house. But it wasn't eating your chickens, for now, so you could do it the courtesy of throwing it a few bones.

And sometimes those bones were in the form of uncomfortable boner-inducing flattery-fests, but Jack was willing to put up with a lot in the name of peace.

By the time he was packing for his trip to Mark's house, Jack had found himself in a strange state of . . . well, happiness, he supposed. A weird kind of happiness, but he was pretty sure it was happiness nonetheless. He had almost an entire week at Mark's house to look forward to, a portion of that time guaranteed to be just the two of them, and he couldn't really find anything disappointing in that fact.

Well, just the two of them, and Dark. But Jack had accepted that fact a long time ago.

His flight arrived in L.A. just a little before 4 PM, late, enough so that Bob and Wade's planes would have been long in, and they were probably already settled in at their hotels. And still Mark was there waiting for him, standing in the lobby and watching down the arrivals hall with his hands shoved in his pockets, wearing a dark floral button up that really should have been buttoned higher than he had it, but fuck if Jack was going to complain about that. The American was grinning ear to ear as he watched him in the crowd, and when they finally got within arm's reach, Mark pulled him into a rough hug without hesitation.

He'd almost forgotten how warm he was. Like a hot water bottle. Like he was running a fever.

Had he always been that warm?

They talked incessantly the entire way home, as if they hadn't talked in ages, nevermind their constant texts and messages and voice chats. They took turns rambling, about things they'd already discussed and things that meant nothing, occasionally talking over each other, or interrupting, or being generally rude and loud and obnoxious. But neither of them seemed to mind.

It was like they were both hungry for the other's attention. And Jack was willing to give and take for that in a heartbeat, throwing himself at the American with all the exuberance Mark had given him, and he wasn't sure when the last time he'd been this excited was. Maybe that Disneyland trip.

The miles to Mark's house seemed shorter than he remembered, and the entire trip was a blur as they dragged Jack's things into the strangely empty home. Tyler had had his own place for a while now, and Ethan finally signed on his new apartment, spending only sporadic time at the house as he got settled into his new place. And with him visiting family before their PAX trip, the house seemed painfully quiet. Something Jack was determined to fix.

He knew how lonely Mark could get.

"Ethan finally cleared out his room, so you've got your pick of rooms," Mark told him as they dragged his things through the foyer, the sound of Chica's excited barking coming from across the house, muffled by some door. "If you wanted to switch things up this time."

"Nah, I got used to my little guest room. S'basically my home away from home."

Mark snorted at that, but he was grinning that too-big grin of his, all happy and crooked, and Jack could feel the familiar pang in his chest, a little duller than usual, but still there to put the odd touch to the warmth that flooded through him at Mark's happiness. It was familiar. Comforting. Welcome. And he found himself grinning back at the American without hesitation.

"Alright, suit yourself," Mark said, one hand slipping back into his pocket as the other swept hair from his eyes, and Jack wondered if he realized how much like a cologne commercial he looked like just then. "I'm gonna go let Chica out, she's been locked up since this morning. Just make yourself at home, you know the drill."

"Yep, wreck yer shit, I got it."

Mark rolled his eyes, the hand in his hair falling to slip into his other pocket, and he shook his head with that grin still plastered to his lips. "The guys should be here in like twenty or so, so if you wanna grab a shower or anything, better do it now."

Jack was nodding, letting his eyes fall to his bags, calculating the best way to carry them in one trip so he didn't have to walk down the steps again, discomfort be damned. But he paused when he realized Mark was still standing there, hands in his pockets, just looking him over with that stupid grin, and Jack's gut flipped in a way it hadn't done in a long time.

Why was he looking at him like that? All soft eyes and genuine happiness, a spark of excitement hiding in his chocolate orbs, and everything about him was just breathtaking then - his eyes, the curve of his mouth, his hair falling messy despite his best efforts, the hint of collarbone and sunkissed skin winking at him from beneath his dark shirt. The way his hips were popped forward just so, the veins and shape of his knuckles disappearing into dark jeans. But those eyes, soft and sincere and _happy_ had something nameless rushing through Jack so sharply it took genuine effort not to gasp.

"I'm glad you're here," Mark told him, and his voice was so heartbreakingly sweet that it took everything in Jack not to go to him.

"Me too," he managed in a gentle murmur, and his heart was aching as he watched the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled just so at that. And then, because he loved him, and because he knew Mark didn't mean it in the way he wanted, and because he wasn't strong enough to handle that level of intensity from that damn man, he let his mouth curve into a wicked smirk and leaned down to scoop up his bags. "I'm sure yeh've been goin' mad without anyone teh torment."

"Oh, you've no idea," Mark groaned, and the little moment was gone. The American was stepping away, walking backward towards the living room, his hands coming out of his pockets as his posture and expression moved back into the safe, normal habits he was used to. "Only Dark to talk to?" He shuddered theatrically before turning towards the sound of his beloved canine's whining. "It's been a nightmare."

Dark. He was physically in the same room as Mark. Which meant he was almost physically in the same room with Dark too.

That had a different kind of rush spiking through him.

"How's the edgelord doing?" Jack called after Mark as he struggled to find a comfortable hold for all of his bags. Because he wanted to hear Mark's voice. Not because he needed to know about the demon. They'd talked in the last 48 hours, he was in no hurry to see him again now that he had Mark in front of him.

"He's good," Mark called back, and his voice was relaxed, easy and calm, and it struck Jack then how comfortable the American had gotten with talking about the creature as of late. He wanted to believe that was his fault. He wanted to believe that all his time spent with the bastard was paying off for Mark, because that's why he did it. For peace and ease, and because he was willing to sacrifice for Mark to have those things. No other reason.

He could hear Mark open a door somewhere he couldn't see, and the whining got louder, the sound of feet excitedly thumping against the floor as the pair moved back towards the back door.

"He wants to see you, of course," came Mark's voice, the slightest touch of annoyance there, but nothing compared to what it used to be. "But I figure we can talk about that after the guys leave tonight."

"Yeah, that works," Jack called back as he headed into the hall. "Maybe in the morning actually. I'm probably gonna pass out after they leave."

"That's fine!" Mark called, sounding far away, before the sound of a door closing cut it off, and Jack was pretty sure he was alone in the house now.

Jack managed to get his things up to the familiar guest room with only a minor struggle, tossing them into the corner without preamble and letting his gaze trace the room. It was a familiar sight to him now, dark walls, cushy bed set close to the ground, a big dresser across one wall, and a door to an en suite bathroom next to the walk-in closet. Rather luxurious accommodations for a guest room, but Mark had wanted to go big on his first house purchase, so.

He wondered how many other people had stayed in this room. What other guests did he have spend the night? Tyler and Ethan had had their own rooms when they stayed here, and Kathryn had never had reason to spend the night, living just down the road. And he was pretty sure his mother never came out to L.A. to visit - that was usually a travel-back-to-Ohio thing, as far as he knew.

It almost felt like _his_ room. Not that he spent a lot of time in it, but . . . well, it was always open to him, an unspoken rule that he always had a place to stay when he came to visit America, and there was rarely a question of whether he was going to be there when he made a trip. And walking in the door felt almost like walking into his house. His home away from home, as he'd said. His own little place, carved out of America that was just his.

Only the last time he'd been in this room . . . it hadn't been just his, had it? He'd shared it. And that memory chased the comfort from his muscles, his gut clenching in anticipation as he let his mind wander back to the topic he'd been avoiding so thoroughly.

Dark.

What was Dark going to be like when he finally saw him again? He could put it off for a while, a day, maybe even two, but eventually he was going to have to see him. Even before, when he wasn't harassing him for attention constantly, the creature had been sure to show up at least once during his visits, and there was no way he was going to miss out on this now that he had Jack within reach.

Not after the kinds of things he'd said over their calls.

He really should start unpacking, but just then, all he cared about was getting a shower. A cooler one. To wake up him up. Because he was tired. Yeah.

Of course, the shower wasn't exactly a safe place to be when trying to avoid certain thoughts. The warm water sluicing down his body, through his messy fried hair, had a tendency to wash away anxieties and fears and posturing, in a way that left him open to deeper thoughts. And not always thoughts he wanted to have.

Like the echoed memories of Dark crooning to him through his headphones.

_"Such a lovely little thing."_

Which he was actively trying to avoid.

_"So pretty."_

He didn't want to think about that.

_"You're a masterpiece, Jack."_

Didn't want to think of Dark's hands on him.

_"A work of art."_

Didn't want to remember those black eyes burning into him.

_"Just for me."_

Didn't want to think about how he'd be seeing him in the flesh here very soon. 

_"Say my name, Jack."_

Jack gasped, hand coming out to grip at the tiled wall, his teeth baring down in frustrating as he desperately shoved those thoughts away. He did _not_ want to see the bastard. Not like this. Not when just the faintest memories of his touch were driving him insane in the shower, despite exhaustion and a complete lack of desire for the creature. He was not going to go before him a pathetic whining mess once more.

He was going to deal with him the same way he had been for weeks. He was going to tolerate him. He was going to put up with his neediness without letting him cross borders. He was going to continue to take the piss out of him with stupid nicknames.

He couldn't exactly be taken apart by someone he called "Guyliner McGee", could he?

Shutting off the water with jerky hands and feeling considerably less revived than he'd been hoping, Jack made quick work of getting dressed, throwing on a nice enough shirt and slipping into a looser pair of jeans, trying to keep some semblance of comfort while still looking presentable. Wade and Bob were coming over with the girlfriends for dinner, and Tyler and Kathryn were supposed to be by a little after them. It'd probably just be a take-out style thing, or maybe they'd go sit down somewhere proper, but then after that, he could sleep, and get all this shit straight in the morning. He had plenty of time to deal with Dark when the time came. For now, might as well focus on the here and now.

When he was dressed and presentable, Jack took one last look at the bags he should _probably_ start unpacking before turning to make his way downstairs, heading towards the kitchen and a much-needed glass of water. He passed Chica curled up in her bed in the living room, watching him with a thumping tail, but not bothering to get up from her new comfy spot as he made his way through the dining room and into the spacious kitchen.

None of the guys were here yet, obviously, Mark off doing something, but Jack found the granite counters and dark wood to be familiar and comforting. He crossed the room to one of the far cabinets with confidence, opening it to find fat plastic cups, the type you used when you weren't sitting down to a proper meal, and Jack picked his favorite - bright red with the faded name of some pizza place - before heading to the fridge to fill it with water from the spout.

He figured he'd probably just settle in on the couch, watch a bit of TV and pet the dog while he waited for the guys. Mark would probably come join him soon enough, maybe suggest a round or two of Mario Kart or something, and he was ready to settle in, get comfortable, enjoy his time. Like he'd been looking forward to.

And then he turned around, and the cup slipped from his fingers to splatter the floor and his feet with freezing water.

Dark was standing in the doorway, not a trace of Mark left in his flickering frame. His eyes were jet black, that red shine bright across the orbs, easy to see even from across the room, and he was devoid of every other drop of color. Even the air around him looked dead, the life and color and energy drained from it as the creature took a slow, calculated step forward.

" _Jack_ ," he purred, and Jack's heart was hammering so hard in his chest that he was having trouble hearing anything around it. It was like that rush you got from a jump scare, a shock through his system that felt like soft knives rushing through his body, not tearing but stabbing, and he couldn't fucking breathe around the feeling.

Everything in his body was telling him to run just then.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, and there was that familiar cadence, clipped words crafted with care, only there was a tone behind it, a sound that set his teeth on edge, that had a shock running up his spine and this was wrong, this was very wrong, this was very, very, _very wrong_.

_Answer him,_ that voice in his head urged, and Jack struggled to get his mind together. What the _fuck_ was Dark doing here already? He wasn't ready for him. He wasn't mentally prepared. He wasn't ready to treat him with the indifference and levity he'd been determined he was going to treat him with, and now he was struggling to remember any words in the English language, much less the words needed to cut him down the way he needed to.

Why was him just _standing_ there enough to wreck him?

_Nicknames_ , he told himself, grasping at the frayed pieces of his mind, desperately trying to get his shit together again. It was just a demon. Standing across the room. Staring him down like he wanted to devour him. It was fine. He'd dealt with him plenty. He should be a master at this point. Nicknames. He was going to call him nicknames. He was going to cut him down, take the bite from his words, the sting from his touch. _He wouldn't hurt him_ so no reason to fear him. He'd stop if he told him to.

All of these things made sense in some part of his brain, but the rest was still struggling with the sight of the creature, smiling a wicked, crooked smile that had the hair's on the back of his neck prickling as he shivered.

A nickname. Call him something stupid. Like "Mr. Hot Topic" or "Twilight Darkle" or _anything_.

_Answer him._

But all his witty words left him as he watched the creature take another smooth, prowling step forward.

What had ever made him think he could call this thing "Darkling" to its face?

"Dark," Jack choked, and his gut twisted sharply as he watched his crooked smile twist into a broken grin, eyes shining and hungry as he took another step forward. He was next to the island now, one hand coming out to trail a finger across the cool granite surface, the monochrome of his hand making the stone look saturated and bright, and the red in his eyes was flashing sharply as he came steadily closer to his prey.

And god, if Jack didn't feel like prey just then.

"Yer s'posed to ask," he spluttered, unaware the words were even on his lips before they tumbled out. Dark's eyes glinted wickedly at him at that, and Jack watched the way his lips pulled back from his teeth as he answered.

"Ah, but _Jack_ ," he growled, and Jack's eyes darted down to watch his fingers curve across the stone, digging in sharply, and he suddenly wondered if Dark was strong enough to crack the heavy surface. With the way this thing radiated power, he wouldn't be all that surprised.

And wasn't that terrifying?

"I've been waiting . . . so _patiently_ ," he hissed, and something in his frame flickered sharply, and Jack was shifting, moving away from the fridge, guided by the creature's stalking steps as he pressed himself back into the cabinets behind him. "And our little _friend_ here," he said the word with such utter distaste, Jack could feel the hairs on his arms prick up in apprehension. "Was content to make me wait _days_ . . . before I see you again."

He was too close now. Past the island, only a prowling step or two between them, and Jack was drowning in that emptiness, in that void that was Dark, the pull from deep inside him that seemed to drain all the color and life out of everything near him. It was much worse than he remembered, suffocating, and black, and so _empty_ , and it felt like it was going to swallow him whole if he took another step. And he was _going_ to take another step. And Jack couldn't stop him.

He was literally a lamb before a lion.

"Dark," he choked again, his voice tight, almost pained as he tried to . . . what, warn him? Beg him? Command him to stop? None of them seemed remotely possible as the demon took another step, and his hand came out, ghosting across Jack's shoulder, not quite touching as he took it on a lazy journey up his neck and behind his ear, and Jack's hands shot up on reflex to grip at the creature's shirt in desperation, his mouth moving quickly around almost panicked gasps. "Dark, _please_ , I can't breathe."

And then it was gone. In the blink of an eye, that suffocating, choking feeling, the icy clutch of that void on his soul, just disappeared, the warm touch of hands on his neck chasing away the cold and the emptiness, and Jack was left trembling as he looked up at the creature's now familiar olive face.

"My apologies, my sweet," Dark purred in a soothing tone, the hands at his neck sliding up to cup his cheeks, warm palms rough against his beard. The gray was gone, along with the flickering and the cold, even the red glint in his black eyes seeming faint just then, and Jack wanted to collapse against his fresh warmth, suddenly feeling all too exhausted.

He settled instead for gripping harder on the creature's shirt. Not pulling him closer. But holding him, like an anchor, as he worked to pull himself together again. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly through parted lips, and didn't shy away when he felt one of Dark's thumbs press across his cheekbone.

"Breathe, little lamb," the demon crooned, and he stepped a little closer, pressing Jack between the counter and his warm chest, legs pinning him still as he gave him just enough space to keep his desperate grip on that stupid floral button up. His hands on his face were shifting, one falling to grip on his shoulder as the other moved back, thumb pressed against his cheek as his fingers slipped behind his ear, and he was leaning down to rumble his words so close that Jack could feel his breath against the side of his face. "I won't hurt you."

_He won't hurt you,_ that voice echoed, and Jack felt the echoes of panic in the tired pounding of his heart. It was still racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and every touch felt electric and sharp.

It was no wonder he couldn't help the breathless sound he made when Dark caught the shell of his ear between his teeth.

"S-stop," Jack spluttered, shoving at him - but not releasing his fierce grip. He felt like if he let go, he was just going to slide right down onto the kitchen floor. "Dark, w-wait-"

The demon's teeth grazed against the sensitive flesh of his ear, applying more pressure before dipping his tongue across the curve, his breath now heating and cooling it in turn, and Jack shivered sharply under the sensation.

All his determination, all his confidence and plans and stupid conviction, crumbled under Dark's touch, like a house of cards, leaving a tangled, frayed mess of stripped arrogance and bold intentions, and he couldn't pull any of it together as he felt the hand at his shoulder drop to his waist. He knew where he was going with that hand. He knew how this was going to go if he let him go, because, just like every time before, the creature's touch was like cool water to a parched throat, and Jack's body wanted to drink down every drop, his dignity be damned. And if he didn't stop him now, he was going to do something he would regret.

Again.

"Dark," Jack said, stronger this time, pulling back and he felt the fingers at his waist press tighter against his thin shirt, warmth bleeding through the fabric and teasing at how _nice_ that would feel. "Dark, yeh can't-"

" _Jack_ ," Dark cut across him, and the Irishmen felt shame creep up his neck at how much he wanted to melt into his touch at his voice just then. The hand pressed into his side, the palm cupping his jaw, the way he said his name like it was a pleasure just to _say it_ , and when Jack's eyes fluttered open, he was met with dark eyes devouring him with a ravenous gaze.

God, he'd forgotten how intense this creature was in person.

Jack's hands shook against the soft fabric of the shirt, and he could see the button at the top straining from the pressure, tugged down to reveal even more of Mark's smooth skin, mouthwatering as it ran across his collarbone, and down the mild swell of his chest. He wanted to press his face into it, pull the warm body flush against him and bury his nose in his neck, until all he could smell was Mark's cologne and all he could feel was his heat seeping into his and all he could hear were Dark's crooning words as he ran practiced hands across his body.

How could he have ever underestimated him?

Dark leaned forward again, chasing Jack as he leaned away and bringing warm lips to press against his jaw, slow and hungry, a taste of teeth scraped across the delicate skin as the Irishman shivered beneath him, and he was whining as Dark trailed them slowly down his jaw, down his throat, and he still wanted him to stop, but also . . . _he really didn't_.

"I missed you," Dark growled into the delicate skin over his pulse, and Jack groaned, one hand releasing his shirt to tangle itself in his messy hair. "To hear your voice, but not see you-" An open-mouthed kiss against his collarbone. "-was the sweetest form of torture." Another against the base of his throat. "And how lovely you look under me again . . ." One under his jaw, breath washing across his stubble. "I can't wait . . . to hear your sweet voice as I sink into you."

"Fuck," Jack whispered, and he could feel Dark's lips turned up at that as electricity ran sharp through his body. He knew what the demon wanted, but fuck, to have it spelled out so clearly, no room for misconceptions or desperate wishes.

Dark wanted to fuck him again. Not only that, he firmly believed he was going to. And Jack couldn't tell if that said something about his incredible ego, or about his own broken resolve.

"Dark," Jack rasped out again, the hand in his hair tugging at his dark fringe, pulling him away from the mark he might have been about to leave. The demon resisted, tongue flicking out to catch the corner of his jaw before he yielded, and his hooded eyes and wolfish smile told Jack he wasn't done with him. His voice was breathless as he struggled to spit the words out. "Dark, m'not doin' this. M'not . . . here for _you_. And I'm not gonna . . . I'm not _doin'_ this. That's _Mark's body_ , Dark, and I'm not lookin' fer a fuckin' lay-"

"No?" Dark purred, and he twisted his head to the side, the red in his eyes flashing as he moved in that just-not-quite-right way, too fast and jarring as he smiled down at him. "I think a _'lay'_ -" And he put a venom to the word, low and deadly and sweet as he leaned closer. "-is _exactly_ what you need, pet. I think you need that misery and that loneliness and that _hunger_ . . . I think you need that _fucked_ right out of you."

He'd slipped from Jack's fingers, pressing himself so close that he was crushing the Irishman against the counter now, hands falling to tug at his waist as Jack's own hands were caught between them, and all he saw was a flash of hungry eyes before Dark was pressing his lips against his ear.

"Do you remember last time, little finch? When I had you sing so pretty for me?" One of his hands was wandering, pushing up under Jack's shirt to press a rough hand up his stomach, around his side, exploring his spine. "Do you remember how sweet you sounded? How you cried for me? How you trembled so _beautifully_ as I took you apart beneath me?"

Jack was panting, hands caught against Dark's chest and eyes shut against the imagery and the sound of his voice, trying to pretend it wasn't doing anything to him. Trying to pretend it wasn't _wrecking_ him, trying to hold on to the last shreds of his dignity as he fought back the groan in his throat.

"Remember how _nice_ that felt, Jack? Remember how good it was to finally _give in_. I could do that for you again. I could give you . . . _everything_ you need, little lamb. I could make it all better."

No. No, no, _no, no, no_.

"The worst is past, my sweet. No need to fight anymore. You've already fallen. You've already crossed that line. You might as well _enjoy what you have_. Let me give you what you _need_ , Jack. Let me make it _better_."

" _Dark_."

His voice was so soft. Weak. Broken down. He wanted to keep fighting him. He wanted to tell him to stop, and he wanted to mean it. This wasn't what he'd had planned. He just wanted an easy, happy, maybe-a-little-bittersweet trip with Mark. He didn't want this. He didn't _need_ it. But, _god_ , it felt like he was drowning, and the current was so strong, and drowning in this didn't sound so bad if this was how he went.

"Tell me to stop, Jack," Dark purred, and he hooked strong hands under Jack's thighs, lifting him effortlessly, so fast Jack hardly had time to gasp before he was pressed atop the counter, Dark wedged between his legs, lips ghosting across his jaw, dragging so tantalizingly close to his lips. "Tell me to stop, and say it like you mean it. Tell me you don't want this."

Jack's eyes fluttered open and he took in the sight in front of him. His vision was a mess of dark hair and darker eyes, a hungry expression, all want and desire, _for him_ , and Jack's eyes traced that visage as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

The way he _looked at him_. Like he was the only thing he'd ever wanted. Like he was some incredible feast laid out before him, and he was starving, begging for a bite. There was a strange kind of rush in knowing the creature wanted him like that. Knowing that for all his power and his cruelty and his pride, he _wanted_ the Irishman bad enough to spend every moment of their time together fighting for it, even tolerating his hated host just to get what he wanted.

It was nice. It was so nice. It left him feeling warm and breathless and like he wanted to cry and let the creature hold him as he did. He wanted him. No, not him. He wanted his touch. He wanted to treat him like a prize, like a hard-fought treasure.

And he hated himself for that. More than anything else. He hated himself.

"The guys will be here soon," Jack whispered in a hoarse voice, shining blue eyes looking down to catch on ebony orbs, and he could see the triumph there. Because that hadn't been a "no". That hadn't been a "stop". And Dark heard it.

Jack hated him, too.

"I guess I'll have to be quick then, won't I, pet?"

Jack squeezed his eyes shut with a groan, letting his head fall back, unwilling to watch as he felt Dark's hands running up under his shirt and down to tease across his hips. His lips were still pressing against his jawline, across his beard, breath feathering across his lips, and it took everything in him not to lean forward and close the distance between them.

Dark's thumbs hooked under the band of his jeans, pressing into the delicate skin across his hips, and Jack struggled not to buck up against the feeling, to seek more pressure, more of his touch, just _more_ , his body already trembling for it. His traitorous mind had fed him unwanted fantasy after fantasy of this very thing, in the dark of the night or in the safety of his shower, and he wanted to press into the touch the way he had pressed into his hand as he'd imagined it.

He hated it.

"So responsive," Dark crooned, and Jack bit back the whine that tried to slip out at that, catching his bottom lip in his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Dark slid his hands from his jeans, moving up confidently to tug on the fabric of his shirt, pulling it up slowly, carefully. Like unwrapping a present, and Jack caved to the silent request without having to be asked, raising his arms so the creature could remove that bit of protection. "So good for me, pet."

Jack bristled at that, and he managed to pull himself from the cloudy haze he'd slipped into long enough to cut sharp blue eyes at the creature.

"M'not yer _fucking pet_ , Dark," he seethed, and it was the first thing he'd managed since seeing the demon again that held any kind of bite. And he might have held onto that bite, held onto a bit of that fight and not been such a pathetic whimpering mess, if Dark hadn't leaned forward to catch his lips with a wolfish smirk.

Dark kissed him slow, so painful slow, and _sure_. He took his time, like iron against Jack's lips, unyielding and undeniable, pressing forward with all the confidence of a man prepared to _take_ what he wanted, and Jack was bending faster than he wanted beneath him. His lips came apart without a fight as Dark pried, and when the creature's tongue licked into his mouth, Jack could only moan and meet him with his own.

It was hot and forceful, not the gentle seduction he'd started with, but a battle now, mostly one-sided as he conquered his mouth thoroughly, working Jack over until he was gasping against him, and he was only vaguely aware of the fingers working at his jeans.

Dark moved him effortlessly, fingers hooking smoothly into his now open jeans to tug them down, only just enough to give him the access he needed. At the first brush of his fingers against Jack's cock, only boxers between those warm fingers and his burning skin, Jack was whimper into Dark's mouth, the demon swallowing down each and every one of his sounds.

He made quick work of his boxers, shoving them down to bunch around his thighs as he finally freed his aching dick to the cool kitchen air, and Jack was shaking, with anticipation and want and hatred, and his head was a mess as his arms came up to wrap around Dark's shoulders and pull him that much closer.

Dark growled, a low sound in his throat that Jack knew was pleasure, despite the cold shivers it ran across his skin, and the kiss turned harsher, the demon biting at his lip, dragging it back as he pulled Jack closer in turn.

"I love you like this," Dark growled between hungry kisses. "So obedient. So _needy_."

Jack would have given him a sharp response if Dark's hand didn't wrap around his leaking shaft, drawing a low groan from the Irishman only for it to be devoured by the demon below him.

"Don't worry, Jack," Dark crooned, and he pulled away from the kiss, turning his attention to Jack's jaw, his ear, his neck, leaving Jack desperately trying to manage his breathless moans without Dark's mouth to smother them. "I'm going to give you . . . everything you need. I'll make it _all_ better, little lamb. I'll make you _forget_."

His lips closed around his throat, and Jack could feel the pull, the tug as he drew the delicate flesh there into his mouth. And despite the way his hand was dragging slow across his shaft, sliding the copious precum down with each stroke, Jack's brain came together long enough to formulate one coherent thought.

"N-not so- ah, _god_ , not so high, Dark."

No hickies. No evidence for others to see. Nothing to mark his shame.

Dark growled against his flesh, the sound almost animalistic, and for a moment, Jack was sure he was just going to dig his teeth in right there, leave an unmistakable imprint of his lust as his hand quickened around his cock.

But then he released the skin he'd captured, running a soothing swipe of his tongue across it instead as his hand worked him over, short, harsh pumps that were just a little too rough with the lack of real lubricant, but Jack found he didn't care just then.

It was good. Fuck, it was _so good_ , to have someone else's hands on him, to have them touching him with such _fervor_ , with such need and want and desire, and the sheer skill he worked him over with was just an added bonus, toes curling as the waves of tense pleasure washed through him. Dark seemed to know just how to twist his hands, just how to run his thumb across the crown, just how to mix up the rhythm enough to keep him on his toes, and Jack didn't realize how loud his gasping groans had gotten until he heard the quiet noise Dark made in contrast.

"Oh, Jack, the _sounds_ you make when I have you twisted up like this. So desperate. You'd beg if I asked you too, wouldn't you? If I stopped and held you still, pinned you just like this, watch you throb and leak across yourself as your body begs for release. Begs for _me_." His voice was reverberating in Jack's ear, pitching oddly, the quality sounding _off_ as he pressed his face further into his neck, dragging his face down as he pressed aggressive open-mouthed kisses down his throat. "So _pretty_."

"Dark," Jack warned, fingers biting harshly into the demon's shoulders as his hips started to rock, minute thrusts to match Dark's pace as he felt that tightening in his gut, like a spring coiled tight, tighter and _tighter_ , and he couldn't control the way he panted and moaned, breathless, as Dark worked him just right.

"There you go, Jack. Let go. Let go for me, let me see you come apart for me, let me watch you arch so pretty for me. I want to see you unravel, my pet-"

"Fuck, _fuck, god_ ," Jack gasped, and he had just enough time to watch Dark pull back, eyes impossibly black and intense, before he threw his head back, shutting out the sight as he spilled across the demon's hand, groaning his name.

His body shuddered harshly under Dark's touch as he worked him through his orgasm, waves of pleasure knocking the breath out of him as his arms trembled to hold him up, clinging to Dark like a lifeline as he rode through it. It rolled through him over and over, Dark's skilled fingers dragging it out as long as he could before Jack was weakly shoving at his hand, releasing his death grip to fall back against the counter. He was crammed uncomfortably up under the top cabinet, but he couldn't find it in himself to care just then.

Jack lay like that for a long time, just trying to catch his breath and remember who and where he was. He was vaguely aware of Dark's thumbs rubbing soothing circles onto his sides, but he couldn't really take in the full weight of the moment until he finally opened his eyes once more.

Dark's eyes were fixed on him, jet black and hungry as they roved across his body, devouring the sight of him, softening cock laid across his belly, a few stray streaks of cum smeared across his trembling stomach, chest red from exertion, and his face a mess of post-orgasmic bliss.

Jack's breath caught in his throat as Dark pressed a thumb across on of the messy white trails, sliding the slick substance across his skin as he watched with rapt attention.

" _Beautiful._ "

Jack opened his mouth, breath stuttering in his throat as he tried to manage the myriad of emotions rushing through him, tried to find some string of coherent thought as he looked down at those ravenous eyes.

And then the sound of the doorbell cut through the heavy air between them.

They both froze, Dark's fingers pressing a little tighter into his sides as Jack made a sound of terror. Bob and Wade. They were here. And he was on the kitchen counter, demon between his legs, covered in his own cum.

_Fuck._

Dark seemed to catch the fear in his eyes, and that broken smile of his crept up his face as he leaned away, giving Jack room to breathe for the first time since he'd seen him.

"Go clean up, sweet," he told him in a low voice, still sounding more like a rumble than speech. "I'll take care of them."

"Yeh . . . yeh'll take care . . . of-"

"Hush, I'm not going to hurt them. He still thinks you are in the shower. Now go on."

Jack stared at the creature warily, hands coming down to grip at his jeans as he slowly slid from the counter, legs feeling like jelly beneath him, but somehow managing to hold his weight. The idea of climbing the stairs back to his bathroom seemed a daunting task just then. But the idea of an escape was even sweeter.

Dark's eyes tracked him as he pulling his jeans back up around his slim waist, making quick work of the button as he turned to grab his shirt, throw haphazardly across the counter, forgotten. But before he could slip away, Dark's hand came out to catch him, at it was flickering and gray once more against his skin, the empty pull there but fainter than before, and Jack couldn't resist as he dragged him forward to place a heavy kiss against his lips.

It was brief, rushed and fleeting, but dominating nonetheless, and Jack felt the way his body lit up in weak excitement and anger alike.

"Good boy," he purred. And then he was turning before Jack could find his outrage, striding across the kitchen, back towards the living room and the front foyer, taking the time to throw a quick "It'll be Mark when you get back" before he disappeared from view.

And Jack was left standing in the kitchen, clutching his shirt and wishing for the thousandth time that that damn demon didn't exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got back from Jack's show and get to post smut finally? It's all my dreams come true.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [Spectrum by Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iC-_lVzdiFE) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

Dark was gone by the time Jack was finished cleaning up, Mark's familiar eyes catching him the moment he stepped back down the stairs, and the American gave him a face-splitting grin as he waved him over from his spot on the couch. Bob and Mandy and Wade and Molly were sitting around the room, all calling out greetings as they caught sight of him, and Mark was quick to pull him back into the group.

It was easy to forget about everything with so many familiar faces and so much to catch up on. Mark had opted to call out for chinese food, and the group ended up sitting around the coffee table in the living room rather than finding a proper place to eat, Jack and Mark sitting cross-legged on the carpet to offer proper seating to the other guests, neither wanting to make a journey to the dining room to fetch more chairs.

And for the next hour, they stayed like that, joking and poking fun and catching up, taking their time to finish their food as they traded stories and laughed and just generally enjoyed each other's company. Jack relished the companionship, Bob's biting wit and Wade's self-deprecating humor, and the warm feeling of Mark's arm pressed against his as they sat beside each other and laughed.

By the time the four left, Jack was utterly exhausted, his body lethargic as he collected takeout boxes and dragged his way to the kitchen to tuck the leftovers into the fridge. Mark came in behind him carrying a small assortment of trash, giving Jack a brief weary smile before he headed back to collect the cups. Jack watched him go, eyes tracing his familiar frame briefly, before leaning against the island and turning his attention to his phone.

He was completely drained, ready to sink into his comfortable bed upstairs and enjoy a good night's rest after all the craziness of today. Just _thinking_ about those cool sheets and thick blankets had his body wanting to melt into a pile of sleepy goo. The only thing keeping him here now was Mark, and making sure the American didn't need him for anything more before he slipped off to slumber.

His Tumblr feed had yielded a few interesting things since the last time he checked, and he was busy flicking through them when Mark came back in carrying an armful of cups.

"You good?" Mark asked, jolting Jack from his reverie.

"What?" The Irishman asked groggily, looking up from his phone with a comically dazed look, and Mark snickered at him as he passed.

"I said, are you good? You took a while upstairs, and you've been quiet tonight."

"Have I?" Jack asked, genuinely surprised. He hadn't felt quiet. He'd been just as vocal as Mark, at the very least, offering plenty of jokes and anecdotes during dinner, and he certainly hadn't felt off. As a matter of fact, he'd felt surprisingly . . . normal. Despite everything. "I didn't mean teh be."

"Hmm, maybe I'm crazy," Mark said amicably as he dumped the plastic cups into the sink before shaking his hands out and making his way over to join the Irishman, popping a hip against the marble top of the island. "You doing okay in general?"

Jack looked up, his thumb that had been absently swiping over his screen coming to a stop as he got caught up in warm chocolate eyes, and his sleep addled brain had trouble coming up with an answer for a few long moments.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. "Yeah, I'm doin' good. Just crazy tired."

Mark snorted and shrugged, nodding his head as he released Jack from the power of his gaze, and letting his eyes drop to Jack's hands - only for a broad grin to split up his face.

"Oh my god," Mark said, his voice sharp and giddy and Jack felt a spark of energy rush through him at the tone as he looked down, trying to understand what Mark was responding to.

"What?"

"You really did it," Mark said with a breathless laugh.

"Did what?"

"You made it your wallpaper," Mark said, pointing with a grin to Jack's phone. And then Jack glanced down, that stupid freaky picture that he'd stopped actually seeing after having it on his phone for so long suddenly coming back into focus again, and he felt a nervous smile creep up his face.

"Oh, yeah," Jack laughed, a little awkwardly as he turned the phone around to show Mark. "Chicamoo is wallpaper. I told yeh I did it."

"Yeah, I just didn't expect you to _actually_ keep it."

"S'a good picture," Jack mumbled, pulling the phone back to look down at the now familiar image, Mark's eyes staring out of Chica's face, his tanned arm wrapped around the sweet dog as he grinned a lopsided grin at the camera. That familiar warm feeling tingled through his tired body as he remembered Mark making it _for him_.

"Yeah, I mean, I made it, so," Mark said with a flippant wave of his hand, and Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. Mark leaned forward, closing the small gap between them even further as he reached out his hand. "Can I see?"

Jack handed over the phone mutely, noting how Mark wrapped his hand around Jack's fingers as he took the device, and there was another little shot of warmth as he felt his touch linger.

"God, that was such a bitch to make," Mark said in a mild tone, cocking his head to the side as he leaned against the island, close enough that Jack could feel the warmth pouring off him, could smell his cologne, and the urge to just lean into his chest was so strong it almost hurt to stop his tired body from doing just that.

If it was Dark, he could.

"I was just gonna do a stupid thing with my mouth on Chica's at first," Mark continued, eyes still fixed on the phone, blissfully unaware of the inexorable pull trying to drag Jack into his friend's arms. "Like the 'meow' thing, you know. But then I started looking for pictures, and I couldn't find one I liked, and Chica was already in the room, so I figured I'd just take a new picture, and I was like, 'why not put me in the picture, and I can trade some features,' and yeah, that happened . . . pretty good edit though."

Mark looked up, and Jack was struck by how close he was, how little space there was between them, how _easy_ it would be to close that distance. He wouldn't even need to lean up - they were at the same height. And Mark was just smiling. And doing that thing with his eyes again, where it felt like he was going to just melt. And then he was reaching a hand up, reaching out for Jack's cheek, and _what the fuck was he doing-_

"Jesus, man, your eyes look like shit."

Jack blinked as Mark ran a thumb across his cheek, little sparks lighting up at the contact as he pulled at the skin. His palm felt almost cool against his face, and Jack wondered if he was blushing as painfully obvious as it felt like he was just then.

"You've got, like, bags on bags man. You've gotta sleep."

"I know that," Jack snapped with a weak laugh, and he looked down, unable to hold his gaze, reaching out for his phone as an excuse not to look up into those stupid warm eyes anymore. "I'm just waitin' on you to let me sleep."

Mark laughed, and Jack's brain felt fuzzy and sluggish, struggling to process all of this as he felt Mark's newly freed hand wrapping around his wrist, thumb pressing gently into the delicate skin of the inside of his wrist, pulse jumping under the digit. Mark was close, he was too close, and Jack was too tired for this, and the memory of Dark pressing him into the counter in that same stupid dark floral button up was still ghosting through his brain, and he just needed to sleep, _now_ , before he did something he regretted.

"Hey, I'm not stopping you," Mark said with a chuckle, the thumb pulling at his cheek putting more pressure there to drag at the skin and inevitably make some kind of stupid face, except it didn't feel stupid because _he was so close_.

"You're literally holding me," Jack breathed, trying to find the closest he could get to normality in his tone, but he couldn't even remember what his regular voice sounded like just then. As it was it sounded rough and broken and breathless, and he was just trying to focus on breathing normally as Mark's eyes fell to look between them.

"Oh, shit, yeah," the American laughed, the sound easy and relaxed, and it sounded like honey to Jack as he released his loose grip. "Sorry, apparently I'm clingy tonight."

Jack backed away. And it hurt. It hurt every inch, the distance feeling yawning and wide despite only taking two small steps, because he couldn't remember the last time that yearning had been so bad, the last time he'd had to fight so hard not to do something stupid, and it left him feeling weak and shaken as he forced a laugh, fingers fiddling with his phone as he struggled to put his head back together.

"'Clingy'," Jack snorted, fighting his voice back into a normal range and hoping any abnormality would just be attributed to his exhaustion. God, he felt like such a mess right then, eyes unfocused as he flicked absently at his screen just for an excuse not to look or focus on anything. "Yer alone in a house for like a week and yer already clinging teh random Irishman fer attention."

"I can't help it!" Mark said in a pitchy voice, shoving off of the island with a little pop of his hip, and Jack could just barely see his grin out of the corner of his eye. "I'm a tactile person, okay!"

"Look man, the only way I need yeh touchin' me right now is if yer gonna carry me upstairs teh bed."

The words tasted sour on his tongue, and he bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Because that was . . . god, there was so much more he wanted. Mark's hands were so warm, and his palms were rough, and he already knew what it felt like to have them sliding up his sides, gripping his hips, and if Mark wanted to touch him, who the hell was he to say no? Just the feel of that loose ring of fingers around his wrist, his palm against his cheek, it was too much, too intimate, and it was fucking with his heart, and all he wanted to do was go back and let Mark touch him however he liked-

"Sure, I can do that."

Jack blinked, eyes unfocused and glassy as his mess of a mind tried to catch up.

And then he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, and understood.

"No, wait-!" Jack said in a rushed breath, barely managing to get the words out before Mark's other arm caught him behind his knees and yanked him with a surprising strength into the air.

Jack's arms came out on reflex, clinging desperately to his shoulders, around his neck, as Mark leaned back to settle the Irishman's weight against his chest and grin at him with that big stupid grin, and it took everything in Jack not to flail and escape the sudden hold he found himself in.

"Mark, put me down," Jack squeaked in a small voice, fingers biting sharply into Mark's shoulders as his body tensed in the American's hands. Mark's arms felt solid under him, wrapped around his back and under his legs, fingers pressed into his knee and side, and Jack could feel his ribs sliding against his palms even through the thin fabric of his shirt. And he felt strangely certain that he was in no danger of falling just then, but that wasn't what had his heart racing desperately in his chest. "Put me down, oh my god, Mark, please, what-"

"You said you wanted me to _carry you to bed_."

An electric _zing_ of excitement rushed through him at the words, at the rough pitch to his voice from the late hour, and Jack made some stupid embarrassing noise before pressing his face into Mark's shoulder and clinging tighter.

"I _didn't actually mean it_ ," he hissed into his shirt, and then whimpered as he felt Mark take a step forward. His body was so sturdy around him, so steady, so easy to trust, and he could feel his muscles bulging under him as he moved, and that was fueling too many thoughts, dear god, _why did he do this._

"Awww, come on, Jack, I'm just being a gentleman to my guest."

"No, please, god, Mark, put me down, yer gonna trip and fall or somethin' stupid."

"No, I'm not."

" _Please_ ," Jack begged in frustration, heart hammering in his chest as he felt Mark's arms tighten around him, shift him so he was pressing his face into his neck instead of his shoulder, and he was surrounded by his stupid smell, and everything was making him feel dizzy. "Stop showing off."

"But I like showing off." And Jack could hear the grin in his voice without even looking up at his face. Could hear it so well because he was speaking almost right into his ear, and Jack was gripping him tight enough to hurt at this point, because god he needed him to put him down, and god did he not want him to.

"Mark, I- . . . please, I-I'm scared of heights, put me down."

Mark came to a stop, the sudden lack of movement startling Jack as he clung to the American's wide frame. For a beat, they were both silent, heartbeat sounding far too loud in Jack's ears as he struggled to stop from nuzzling against the warm skin against his nose, before-

"That's the best compliment you've ever given me."

It took Jack a second to get it. To process the words as his tired brain ran through the whirlwind of emotions he was struggling with.

And then it clicked.

Jack snorted. Then giggled. And then he was full on laughing into Mark's throat, fingers twisting in his shirt as he broke down into fits at the utter _stupidity_ of the moment. Mark was laughing too, that quiet, buzzy laughter he did through his teeth before he threw his mouth open wide and let that cackling out. The sound vibrated against Jack's face, and for just a moment, he didn't resist the urge to press his cheek against his warm skin as the tension inside him uncoiled with the mirth.

"Oh my god, yer so stupid," Jack told him against his collarbone, voice shaking slightly as he snorted again.

"Hey, you said it!"

" _You're_ the asshole that picked me up."

"I mean, if you don't wanna get picked up, don't ask," Mark said with a shrug, shifting his grip on the Irishman as he did. "And don't be so tiny."

"Hey!" Jack said sharply, pulling back to glare at the man with pursed lips. "I'll have you know I'm a perfectly reasonable size."

Mark grinned at him, dazzling and wide even behind tired eyes, before hefting him lightly in his arms.

"Yeah, you're a lot denser than I was expecting."

". . . are you callin' me fat, Fischbitch?"

"No," Mark said with a look on his face somewhere between smug and appraising. "I think the term usually used is 'thicc.'"

Jack rolled his eyes and turned away, trying to stop the stupid blush as he cleared his throat.

"Alright, put me down, yeh fock."

His heart was still racing. But it wasn't so bad just then. It didn't feel so suffocating and panicky. It just felt . . . nice. And that was . . . well . . . _nice_.

Mark glanced from him up the stairs ahead of him, considering for a moment, his mouth twisting into a thin line. Almost a pout.

Jack wanted to kiss it off his face.

" _Fine_ ," Mark sighed after a moment, sounding like a petulant child as swung his arm down, releasing Jack and helping him back to his feet. "If I didn't think I was gonna break both our necks carrying you up those stairs, I'd take you right to bed though."

"I know," Jack said, his tone appeasing even as his heart hammered in a weirdly giddy staccato. He reached out to pat Mark's arm in a gesture bordering just on the other side of condescending. "Yer plenty strong enough, we all know."

Mark shot him a look, that crooked grin splitting his face again as he shoved him and rolled his eyes.

"Stuff it, Jack."

The Irishman put his hands up, placating, and starting back up towards the steps and the safety of his room.

"Hey, I ain't sayin' nothin'. E'rybody knows yer a beefcake, don't need teh be showin' off." He grinned at him, and his chest swelled just a little as that sudden happiness, the kind that wasn't quite so painful, spread all the way out to tingle across his fingertips. "It's the only thing yeh got goin' fer yeh anyway."

Mark lunged at him and Jack bolted, giggling as he raced up the stairs two at a time, more agile than the American could hope to catch with his bulk.

"G'night Mark!" he yelled over his shoulder as he darted towards his room, bouncing on his toes a little as he went.

"Goodnight Seán," Mark hollered back, a bit of that good-natured grumpiness still in his voice, and Jack's grin wanted to split his face as he stepped into his room.

That night, when he slipped into his cozy bed and curled up under the covers, he didn't even need to struggle to find sleep's warm embrace.

  


* * *

  


The next two days were relatively . . . well, peaceful. Nice. _Happy_ , that was the word he wanted. Mark seemed to be running on this deep, thrumming energy, not the same kind of loud exuberance that Jack burned on, but something deeper and steadier that left Jack with this contented kind of high. They recorded videos, they went out to eat with friends Jack hadn't seen in a while, the did stupid shit and posted it on social media for the fans to ridicule them about.

But mostly they just . . . relaxed. They spent basically the entirety of the first day on Mark's couch, playing video games, watching stupid TV, and that one blissful hour where Jack fell asleep - jet lag still wrecking him - and woke up to find the American humming along to some stupid song on the TV, scrolling through his phone, arm resting on Jack's legs, which were for some reason in his lap.

The second day was a little busier, Mark needing to work in his office for a while and the both of them meeting up with a bunch of people for dinner that night. And Jack had loved every minute of it, but he couldn't help but be excited for the next day, since it promised to be another lazy one, and Jack found he couldn't get enough of just laying around and doing nothing for the first time since he could remember.

And the day had started out appropriately lazy. They'd both gotten up late, had breakfast and coffee and shot the shit. Mark had suggested they do some more collab videos that day, and Jack had started offering options, brainstorming what would work best with them both being in the same place. By the time they'd narrowed it down, Jack was on his third cup of coffee, and he was feeling properly awake.

"Oh, hey, heads up," Mark piped up after a comfortable silence had filled the air between them for a few moments, both of them fiddling with their phones.

"Yeah?"

"Dark's gonna be here Thursday night. He's got some of his, you know, scheduled time," Mark said, waving vaguely as he spoke and looking back down at his phone. Jack hummed easily in response, and it was odd how little that made his stomach flip when only a few weeks ago those same words would have riddled him with anxiety.

Jack had only been here for Dark's little reserved times, his promised times when Mark let him out to stretch his legs, on the promise that he behave, on a few occasions in the past. Mark had been particular about making Dark pick times when Jack wasn't there, but with time Mark had been getting laxer with it.

Jack had never thought to ask what Dark did during those periods. They were part of Mark and Dark's agreement, the little treaty they had brokered to stop the constant battling they were originally caught up in, and Jack had never thought to pry into the demon's life, too fixated on the human host to care what the demon did with his free time. But with recent exposure, Jack found himself wondering what he possibly did with his time. An image of Dark lounging on the couch, bored eyes on the screen and controller held loosely in his hands as he played a lazy round of Overwatch had Jack wanting to giggle, and he bit his lip to catch the sound as he looked back down at his phone.

"Wanna get some recordin' done?" Jack asked after another stretch of comfortable silence, and he felt a hint of that warm flush rush through him as Mark smiled his dazzling smile back.

"Sure."

  


* * *

  


It was later that night, after a takeout dinner and most of the way into another Marvel movie, when Mark perked up and glanced over at Jack, mouth pressing in a little line.

"Hey, uh," the man started, looking almost uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

"Dark wants to see me?" Jack asked, and he watched in amusement as Mark's eyes darted to him with a wry smile.

"What, can you hear him too now?"

"Nah," Jack laughed. "Just figured. Honestly surprised it took him this long."

"Ah, well," Mark started, looking off to the side with an awkward laugh. "I might have torn into him pretty bad after he decided to hijack the other night."

Jack raised an eyebrow, watching the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and he wondered idly what those kinds of conversations must be like. Did Mark yell at him in his own head? Or did they even need to talk? Maybe they just kind of . . . _felt_ everything.

What a weird thought.

"Not that that would have necessarily stopped him," Mark amended after a moment. "Because he's an asshole. But I think he was just trying to wait a little while so he could ask when I wasn't still pissed about it."

Jack had the suspicion that it had more to do with the demon being satisfied with the last interaction they'd had, but he wasn't about to voice that, of course. Instead, he simply smiled back at Mark, letting the easy comfort he'd been coasting on for the last few days wash away the little hints of anxiety that had started in the base of his stomach.

"Well, he asked, so I'm cool with seein' him for a bit," Jack said with an easy shrug, shifting to get more comfortable in his seat and pointedly ignoring the rising heat in the back of his spine. "If you're cool with it."

"Yeah, for a little while," Mark said. And there was that smile, that one that was just a little too fond and wonder-filled to be directed at Jack, as he looked the Irishman over. "Just tell him to get out whenever you want, and call me if you need me."

"Yeah," Jack agreed, and his eyes traced over the American as he shifted in his seat, finding a more comfortable position to change, and okay, that was a little bit more anxiety creeping in, because he was about to be alone with Dark again. "'Course Mark."

Mark smiled at him, mild bewilderment and wonder in his features, before he tilted his head back and relaxed into the cushions, a soft sigh on his lips.

And then he was gone, and Jack felt the all-too-familiar pull deep in his gut, that tugging sensation as that blackness opened up to swallow the color in the room.

" _Jack._ "

His name was on his lips before he'd even opened his eyes, and Jack shivered lightly at the way he said it. He never got it quite right in his head, something about the way he seemed to curl his entire voice around it that just never translated into his memories, leaving him caught off guard every time.

Maybe that was a demon thing. Like, to lure people in so they could steal their souls.

Did Dark eat souls?

"Hey Dark," Jack said, willing himself to stay relaxed into his little corner of the sofa as the demon straightened, all slow and predatory and distinctly _Dark_. Jack's foot bounced idly as he glanced back at the TV, the movie still going, and the bright colors were a welcome distraction as his companion got him barings.

There was silence for a moment, and Jack glanced back just in time to see Dark glance from him to the screen, a small smile creeping up his face. Only, instead of gentle and fond, like Mark, it looked . . . well, hungry, almost.

"Iron Man?" Dark asked, and there was amusement in his voice. And that . . . well, okay, _that_ soundly oddly Markish. Just deeper and slower, but that just heightened the experience of it, and Jack had to fight back the familiar warm flush as it tried to creep up his spine.

"Yeah," Jack laughed, and he reached forward to grab his own knee, dragging his foot up onto the couch to hold his leg closer as the other leg continued bouncing. "I haven't seen it in like . . . I think it's been almost two years? Mark and I were trying to figure it out. But it's been a while, so . . ."

Dark looked back at the screen, that hint of amusement still teasing around his lips, and he sounded strangely content as he spoke again.

"So I take it you'd like to watch it," he said. And it sounded the most like a . . . like a _normal_ person speaking as he'd ever heard from Dark. And that was weird, but also strangely comforting.

"Um. I mean, I could pause it, if yeh wanted . . ."

"But you want to watch it." It wasn't a question.

". . . yeah."

Dark hummed at that, a low noise in his throat before he shifted in his seat, one leg coming up to rest his ankle on the other knee and his arm stretched out across the back of the sofa. Jack's eyes followed the movement, honing in on his longer fingers as they pressed against the dark fabric, and he swore he saw Dark smile out of the corner of his eye.

And then Dark lifted the hand, and curled the fingers up in a slow, beckoning motion, and Jack's eyes snapped up again.

"What?" he asked, mouth oddly dry.

"You want to watch," Dark purred softly, and his hand curled again, inviting him closer as his black eyes watched him from a gray, flickering face. "So come watch, little finch."

Jack hesitated. He should be refusing, not just hesitating, but that was . . . that was more tempting than he wanted to admit. The promise of skin and warmth (if he asked for it), the promise of contact and the grounding touch of another body against his . . .

He shouldn't. He should really stay on his side of the couch and just watch the movie until Dark got bored. But . . . that might just make him come get him instead. And maybe if he started . . . well, maybe if he started taking initiative in this instead of constantly fighting and losing, he might gain back some control.

He pressed his lips together, torn, instinct and pride fighting a grinding battle in his gut.

And then Dark turned his head, and one half of his mouth picked up in such a perfect mimicry of Mark's crooked smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle, just a little, and just made his whole face look soft and young and old all at the same time, and Jack decidedly lost the battle in his gut.

He popped forward, knees coming down on the cushions as he shuffled closer, and when Dark's hand came off the couch to wrap around him and pull him closer, the contact didn't feel harsh and demanding.

It just felt nice. Maybe a little firm, or greedy even, but that was still . . . nice.

Dark drew him into his side, pressing him under his shoulder, and Jack shifted until he was tucked under it comfortably, legs splayed out on the couch beside him, and head hardly an inch away from leaning against Dark's arm. Jack expected him to pull him closer, to force him against his cool frame, closer to that low pull sucking the color from the room, but instead, his arm simply went back to the back of the couch, elbow resting on the cushion as cool fingers brushed softly against Jack's shoulder.

Jack waited for a moment, stiff and unsure, as his eyes followed the bright movement on the TV, not really absorbing any of it. Dark's smell was all around him, a mix of Mark's cologne, wood smoke, and something metallic, and he could still feel that low pull deep in his gut, the coldness trying to pull the warmth from his body. But nothing was . . . happening. No roving hands or ravenous lips. No crooned words twisting his gut up in delicious ways and making his mind putty. He was just sitting there, eyes fixed on the TV, a little smile on his face as he absently stroked over the fabric of his shirt.

And after a few minutes of _nothing happening_ , Jack started to . . . relax. His muscles gradually uncoiled, releasing the tension he hadn't even realized existed, and slowly, ever so slowly, he melted into Dark's side.

And it was so very, very nice. His body was firm, but the skin was soft, and he'd shifted to give him ample room to lay his head, his collarbone winking at him from under his shirt, and Jack found he couldn't resist. He tucked his head down, into his chest, the steady drum of the man's heartbeat sounding in his ear as his cheeks pricked with blush. The arm around the back of the couch shifted closer, hand resting comfortably on his shoulder now, but still not pushing farther, and Jack was just . . . happy.

He was happy. He'd just had the best few days he could remember in a long time, he was sitting on his best friend's couch watching a movie he enjoyed, he was currently cuddling with a goddamn demon, and he was happy.

He could live with that.

They watched in silence for untold minutes, Dark's fingers stroking absently across his shoulder the only movement in the room, and Jack found himself zoning out, focusing on the movie, and enjoying it just the same as he had been before. Or maybe even more so now. He was so _comfortable_. Like he could just fall asleep and sleep forever, but that would be a waste of the time he had. And he found himself smiling as they started into the next big action scene, his heart picking up mildly as he watched Stark take the flashy new suit out for its first real fight.

And it was in that mindset that he caved so easily at the first brush of fingers against his hair. The hand had been running fingers across him for untold minutes, and it had become just a comforting background noise, a contented touching that just eased him further into the demon's touch. He hadn't noticed how far he'd moved until two fingers came up to press lightly against the hair on the side of his head, and Jack found himself turning into it without thought.

It was all the permission Dark needed, it seemed. His arm slid from the back of the couch, wrapping more firmly around him as his fingers pressed gently through messy green locks, and Jack let out a little sound, almost a mewl, of contentment as the touch sent a wave of gooey pleasure through him. He was gentle, but firm as he massaged across his scalp, and Jack basically threw up his metaphorical hands and said 'fuck it' as he turned his face to rub his cheek against his knuckles, just relishing the coolness and the sensation of being touched.

By the time Dark's hand was fully buried in his hair, Jack was openly moaning. Not those wanton, in-the-throes-of-passion moans, but the deep muscle moans, like when you were getting a massage, or when you sank into a hot bath. Just that uncontrollable sound of satisfaction and relaxation. And Jack had never been one to keep his mouth shut when he enjoyed something.

Well . . . until he met Mark, that was.

Dark hadn't moved to go any farther, the only signs of his acknowledgment being the hand in his hair, and the low sound of approval Jack could feel vibrate through his chest, through the palm he hadn't realized he'd rested there. And Jack's mind was racing, his heart thrumming with excitement, at the novelty of this moment. Of Dark just making him feel good without that feeling of being hunted. More . . . more _owned_ , but not like he was about to drown in that hungry presence. And that was . . . it was okay. All of this was okay.

" _Dark_ ," Jack all but whispered, turning his face into his chest as the creature ran his hand through the hair on the back of his head, fingers twining and tugging, sending little spikes of pleasure down his spine. Dark didn't answer, only turned his face into the Irishman, nose pressing into his hair as his lips ghosted just above his temple, and Jack caved like a house of cards.

He wasn't actually aware of turning his face up to catch Dark's lips, but the feeling of that cool pressure against his mouth washed away the fuzziness in his brain, leaving him warm and happy and mildly confused about it. Dark seemed almost surprised by the action, his head pulling back just a bit, mouth parting slightly as Jack pressed softly against him. But then he was kissing back, and it was that same kind of possessive, controlling, _dominating_ kiss that was pushing Jack back towards mindless.

Jack shifted closer, wanting a better angle, so he could take more without craning his neck so far, and Dark's arm slipped around him as he moved, sliding down to wrap around his ribs in a loose but strangely possessive grip. Jack pressed closer, guided by the arm, by Dark's slow kisses, by his own hungry heart, and his fingers buried in the man's shirt as he clung to him in a soft kind of desperation.

It was so _nice_. Just touching and kissing and feeling the skin and contact and of being _wanted_ as Dark took over and owned the kiss, still not demanding more, just taking and giving as his hand smoothed across his side, rumbling across his ribs. And for just a minute, Jack didn't think about the repercussions or the morality of kissing a demon that wore the face of his best friend and the man he loved. He just enjoyed it.

Dark's lips molded over his, pushing, forcing his mouth open to give him entry as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, and Jack shuddered at the contact, pulling himself that much closer and taking in a deep, unsteady breath. With clumsy movements, he dragged himself up onto his knees, throwing his leg over Dark's lap, like he had all those weeks ago, and plastered himself to the demon's chest, tilting his head to give him a better angle as he licked into his mouth, swallowing the small sounds of pleasure that were slipping past soft lips.

"Just this," Jack warned between kisses, breathless and shaking as he brought one hand up to cup behind Dark's neck, enjoying being over him for the moment. "Clothes, mm . . . clothes stay on."

"Whatever you want, love," Dark rumbled back, and Jack opened his eyes to look over the face of the man he was kissing.

He had his eyes closed, his face slack and peaceful, his brows occasionally coming together as he chased Jack's lips. He was gray, and this close Jack could see the weird ripple around his skin, like heat on asphalt, and the weird way colors seemed to split into some kind of twisted rainbow around his edges. And it was Mark's face, but it also . . . wasn't.

Dark's eyes flickered open, locking on Jack's and holding him in their gaze as his teeth caught his bottom lip, grazing across it as he molded it with his tongue, and Jack shuddered, unable to look away. He was about to close his eyes, block out the familiar intensity of that creature, when he felt the warmth blossom across the palm on Dark's chest.

The color chased the gray and the void away, blooming across his visage like sunlight across a meadow, and suddenly Jack blanched, his body tightening in anxiety as that familiar face looked back at him.

"No," Jack started, pulling back an inch or two as he swallowed, trying to catch his breath. "No, stay . . . stay like . . ."

Dark raised an eyebrow, his kiss-reddened lips parting for a moment before the color drained from him and that void tugged sharply at him again.

"Like this?" Dark purred, and Jack nodded mutely. He couldn't handle that. Not right now. Not with how . . . sweet Mark was being. His heart couldn't handle kissing this genuine, sweet, soft Mark. But it could handle a demon. It could handle a _respectful_ demon.

Dark smiled at him, his eyes deep and unreadable, before he leaned back in and captured his lips once more, harder now, greedier, more aggressive, and Jack let his thoughts fade into the background as he slipped into the sensations, swimming in his touch as the sound of gunfire and machinery sounded from the TV.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, kissing and touching, Dark's hand smoothed across his back and drawing him closer, until they were softly rutting against each other, and Jack was moaning quietly into his mouth. He was almost tempted to continue, to start pulling at the demon's clothes, a silent request he was sure would be granted.

But he wanted to know. He wanted to know if he would obey him. If he would stick to his word. He wanted to be able to trust him. He _needed_ it, desperately. And he could feel himself shaking with both the effort to pull away and trepidation for his response as he leaned back and looked down at the demon.

"That's enough," Jack murmured softly, eyes looking down to trace the other's lips, his jaw, the curve of his neck. Anywhere but his eyes as he waited for his answer.

Dark took a single breath, drawing the air in slowly, steadily, before he made a contented sound deep in his chest.

"As you wish," he rumbled. And then his arm slipped up to tug the Irishman back to his previous position, nestled against his side, and besides the fingers now softly stroking his throat, they were just as they had been some untold minutes ago.

Jack was silent a moment, looking on to the movie and trying to get his thoughts back in order again. He'd expected more resistance, but . . . Dark had just . . . given in. Done what he said, without a fight. And that . . . that settled something deep in his gut that he hadn't realized had been writhing.

"Thank you," Jack said softly, eyes on the TV as he shifted to lean into his side. The hand at his throat added a bit of pressure as it stroked, a silent touch that made him want to close his eyes and lean in.

"Of course," Dark replied, and he could hear the twisted smile in his voice as he spoke the words, and the way he pulled him that much closer. And then he turned, pressing his lips slowly into the hair above the curve of his ear as he whispered, "You can trust me, Jack."

And Jack wanted very much to believe that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [The Hunger by Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GHXEGz3PJg) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

"I guess it's . . . kinda like sleeping?"

Jack watched as Mark put the leftovers in the fridge, his head cocked to the side as he considered the question. It was late, the bright L.A. sun already slipping behind the trees and providing only a weak pink hue to accent the bright fluorescence in the kitchen. Jack sat at the island, content after a simple meal, head propped up on a lazy hand as he watched Mark clean up.

"I mean, it's not quite the same," the American clarified after a moment, and Jack's lips pulled up in a fond little smile as he watched his face turn pensive. He hadn't expected to throw him for such a loop with the simple question. Had he really never thought about how to explain this before?

Then again, if Jack was the only one he talked to about this, it made sense.

"It's more like . . . I don't know, I guess sleeping is right. But it's not . . . heavy? Like, when you're sleepy, you feel really heavy and like . . . what's the word. Starts with an 'l', sounds like 'lasagna'."

"Lethargic?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"How the fuck does that sound like 'lasagna'?!" Jack asked, laughing a little too loudly and trying to reign it back in to chuckles as Mark shot him a look.

"I don't know, I'm not a word . . . one of them word peoples."

Jack snorted, and slapped a hand over his mouth, lifting his head to gesture with the other for him to continue.

"Stop laughing at me!"

"I'm not laughing at yeh!" Jack managed through laughter, and he ducked his head as Mark mimed chucking an empty box of noodles at him. "Finish explaining, damn it!"

Mark narrowed his eyes, and it was clear he was considering still chucking the empty cardboard in the Irishman's direction.

"Fine," he said after a moment, and started breaking down the box for the recycle. "So . . . so, yeah, sleep is all, like . . . heavy. And when you're tired it's like you're . . . I dunno, trying to swim? Like you're fighting something? But this isn't the same, it's more like . . . it's just a lack of sensation. Like, unless Dark let's me see, I'm just alone with my thoughts, but it's really easy to think? I don't know, it's kinda nice sometimes. Everything's really clear."

"But you can still . . . like . . . sleep?"

"Yeah, I can . . . I can just shut everything off, if I want to. It's still not sleeping, I don't think. It's just . . . just shutting down for a bit. And I'm still thinking? I think. It's just . . . quieter." He paused for a moment, his hands slowly folding the box like some kind of meticulous puzzle. "I can listen to music, if I want."

"You can . . . listen to music?"

"Yeah. If I know the song, it's actually pretty clear."

"Huh. But he can't hear unless yeh want him to." Jack remembered the first time he'd asked him about that, the wonder of trying to grasp having another entire being in your head.

"Yeah, that's still the same. And I can't hear him if he doesn't want me to. That's true no matter who's . . . uh, driving?"

"Sure," Jack said with a wry smile. There was silence for a moment as Mark threw the folded box in the recycle bin and turned to put the last few dishes in the dishwasher.

"So, uh," Mark said, and Jack watched the way his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck. He was nervous. "So yeah, Dark's allowed free run of the house, except for your room and my studio, so just . . . let him do his thing, I guess. And he might, uh, he might leave, too, but that's okay."

Jack paused, eyebrows coming up as he turned to Mark with a questioning expression.

"I thought he wasn't supposed teh leave."

"Well, no, he's . . . it's not the same. He's allowed to leave during these, uh . . . sessions? Like, the agreement is, is that he doesn't hurt anyone and he doesn't do anything that would . . . you know, damage my reputation. And in return, he gets these regular periods of freedom and I don't watch whatever he chooses to do. So . . . so I don't know, he could have a girlfriend on the side or something, I have no idea. He just . . . as long as he behaves, he can do what he wants."

"Oh," was all Jack could manage, his mouth feeling strangely dry. He had never thought of Dark as an entity that truly existed outside of this house, and the brief glimpses he caught when Mark was out and about. He was always a . . . a private thing. A just-with-Mark thing. And the idea of him roaming in the world, especially after the revelation that he used to "hunt" . . . it just seemed so alien and wrong.

"Yeah, so uh . . . you know, just . . . do whatever you want and feel free to just . . . ignore him."

Jack's eyes darted up to catch the way Mark was shifting back and forth on his feet, his eyes darting from his hands to the floor to the counter, and Jack processed the level of anxiety the man was going through. He'd been like this before, back when he was still learning new things about the demon, and Mark had been so nervous to tell him things. Like he thought Jack was just going to leave any minute to avoid the insanity that was his life.

Something thrummed deep in his chest, bittersweet and aching, and Jack let his lips pull back in a gentle smile.

"Mark, dude." Mark looked up, his eyes wary, and Jack let his smile split a little farther as he gave him a little laugh. "It's okay. I can handle Dark, man. You don't have to worry about me."

Mark's lips pressed together harshly, and his eyes tightened as he wrung his hands together.

"I know, but . . . it's . . . it's weird, and I know it's weird. And it makes everything difficult. And he's so . . . he's a lot to handle, I know that, and-"

"Mark - stop. Breathe. It's okay." Mark's eyes darted back from where they'd been wandering towards the floor, and there was a fear in there that Jack just wanted to soothe away. "I've got plenty of practice dealing with him. He's _really_ not that bad. Hell, me and him are . . . we've gotten pretty comfortable with each other."

The memory of the other night, curled up on the couch together like some kind of mockery of a romance, had Jack's gut tightening even as a warm flush spread through him, and he cleared his throat as he continued.

"Just relax, okay? I'm really okay with all of this. I mean, hell, if nothing else, it keeps our relationship interesting."

He laughed, and Mark chuckled with him, looking weary even as the tightness around his eyes started to smooth away, and his expression turned back to that hopeful wonder that made Jack's stomach turn in weird ways.

"Fuck, I don't know how I got through all this before you," Mark murmured, and Jack knew the blush had to be clear on his face now.

"M'not doin' nothin' special," Jack muttered, looking away and fiddling with the phone in his hands.

"Sure," Mark said, and Jack could hear the wry smile in his voice even without looking. "Alright, I'm gonna do the rest of the dishes real quick, and then probably hand it over to him."

"Cool," Jack said, his voice breaking a little around the edges as he disentangled himself from his chair. "I'm'a go take a shower, and maybe watch a movie or something before bed."

"Sounds good. Just call me if you need me, and, uh . . . I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep. Sleep well!"

Mark snorted, but tossed his hand up in farewell as he turned towards the sink.

"You too, Seán. Thanks again."

"No problem, Mark."

  


* * *

  


The sound of the water drumming around him, the warmth of it sliding across his skin, the feeling of safety behind glass and a locked door - it let a tension Jack hadn't realized he'd been carrying seep out of him. A low sigh rattled out of his throat as he leaned back against the shower wall, shockingly cold again his skin, but no worse than he'd suffered before, as he let his mind wander to the thoughts he'd been avoiding all day.

Dark was going to be here tonight. Hell, he might even be here now. And he was scheduled to be here for hours, free to do as he pleased so long as he didn't hurt anyone. And Jack wasn't naive enough to think that was going to lead to anything other than sex.

Dark had behaved somewhat well on this trip so far. And the voice calls during their separation, those had been fairly easy to get through as well. All in all, the creature had been as much a gentleman as he could expect a demon could be. But his words that first day he'd gotten here, when he'd pressed him into the cool counter and taken him apart with simple words and touches, still rang in his ears, and he knew damn well how Dark was going to want to spend his time.

Most likely, fucking him into the mattress again.

Or maybe he'd prefer the couch this time.

Jack felt a rush of electricity across his skin, a sharp little zing of excitement and anxiety that had him struggling to take a slow breath as he let the water wash over him.

If he told him to stop, and if he really meant it, Dark would probably leave him alone. He was maybe 95% sure of that. Dark seemed to derive the most pleasure out of making him give in, and he doubted he would ever force him. But the real question was whether he could actually tell him no. And, even scarier, if he even wanted to.

What did he want out of Dark? If he could snap his fingers right now and make this weird infatuation with him stop, would he? If he could make him stop the hunting and the touching and the _devouring_ , would he be happier? And . . . what was the harm in it? What were the pros and cons of this? He'd spent far too long avoiding the topic in his mind, and now he had hardly any time before he was going to be back in that creature's grasp.

What did this do to him. He wasn't in a relationship, so there was no guilt to be had from betraying a loved one, despite his feelings towards Mark. The body did not belong to Dark, but Mark had given him express permission to do with it what he wanted, so long as he didn't hurt anyone or hurt his reputation. Dark did not seem the type to want any kind of relationship or emotional attachment to him, so there was no obligation to return any form of affection. It was just . . . sex. It was just physical comfort, a cathartic release of built up desire and repressed urges, and fuck, he'd be lying if he said it didn't feel good.

But at the same time, it was just so . . . so _wrong_. There were so many reasons not to. He had no idea why Dark wanted to do the things he did, and he couldn't be sure he wasn't just toying with him, leading up to some ultimate game or ploy of some kind that would somehow benefit him. And it wasn't fair to be lying to Mark like this. Not when he trusted him so deeply.

Then again, he'd been lying to Mark for years at this point. What was one more lie?

Jack pursed his lips, huffing as he pushed off the wall and reached for the soap. What Dark offered had the potential to be both physically and emotionally cathartic, a release of tension and an outlet for his own repressed desires. Dark had done nothing to hurt him, and Dark was _going_ to keep pushing for this. And Jack . . . well, Jack was too tired to keep fighting him.

The Irishman took a slow, shaky breath as he processed his racing thoughts. And he wasn't stupid. He knew the general direction they were taking, the consensus he had already seemed to reach before he'd even finished going through all the points of consideration. His hands worked slowly to lather the wash in his hands, stepping away from the soothing stream to run the soap across his body as his mind raced and his heart beat a little too fast in his chest.

He knew what he was going to choose. He was never going to have Mark. And Dark was nowhere near a healthy substitution for what he wanted. But he couldn't deny him. And as he ran a hand over the curve of his ass, fingers slipping down to press over his entrance, he closed his eyes and tried to block out the mix of shame and arousal that was slowly twisting him into a mess.

If he was going to do this, he might as well do this right.

  


* * *

  


Jack didn't even hear him come in. He stood at the dresser, the heavy mirror above it reflecting the familiar bedroom behind him as he pulled open drawers and started searching for his pajamas. One hand still clasped idly around the knot he'd made in the towel, slung sloppily around his waist, as the occasional droplet of water still dripped from his hair.

The sudden feeling of cold skin pressing against his back had him inhaling sharply, eyes flashing up to lock on black orbs in the reflection of the old mirror, and he struggled to remember how to release it again as heavy hands came around to splay across his stomach.

"Hello, Jack," he rumbled with that broken smile, and Jack shuddered in his grasp, the hand still clinging to his PJs coming up to rest against the dresser top to steady his suddenly shaky legs.

"Dark," Jack whispered hoarsely, eyes darting to the open door a few feet away. "Fuck, warn a guy before yeh just walk in."

Dark's smile widened, and Jack realized with a start that he was shirtless, the rigid line of his bare shoulder visible over Jack's own. The hands on his stomach were pressing slowly across his skin, leaving little lines of cool fire that spread right down into his gut, and Jack was immediately certain that his assumption was right.

This was going to end in him getting fucked into something.

The thought had his cock giving a little twitch under the towel.

"Did . . . did yeh need something?" Jack asked, and his voice was shaking now too as Dark watched him in the mirror, just smiling and looking him over with those wicked eyes as his hands spread further across his stomach, one moving up to slide across his chest. Look him over with a hunger. Looking him over with this kind of appraising, prideful approval that had Jack's gut twisting up deliciously.

"Perhaps," Dark murmured in his low rumble, and Jack wondered why such a simple world had him swallowing around a suddenly dry throat. He hadn't even really said anything yet, he hadn't even really _done_ anything, and his heart was already racing in his chest, picking up to beat harshly against his ribcage, and he tried to keep his breathing even as his eyes tracked Dark in the mirror.

"W-, _nhg_ " he started, but the words were cut into a small sound as Dark leaned down to wrap his mouth around Jack's bare shoulder, tugging gently at the skin with soft lips as the hand across his chest brushed across his nipple.

Yep. There went any pretense that he was here for anything else.

"Dark," Jack breathed, whimpering as his thick fingers caught the nipple, twisting it lightly. Dark's mouth was sliding up his shoulder, across the meat of the juncture, and up his throat, his breath heavy and heady against his skin. Black eyes flashed at him in the mirror, and Jack closed his eyes, unable to hold that intense gaze.

"Ah, Jack," Dark murmured against the delicate skin behind his ears. "I did miss how you taste."

He shuddered sharply under the demon's touch, his voluntary lack of sight only heightening his other senses as he took in that swirling scent of _Dark_ that seemed to be invading him from every side already. He could feel the now familiar pull in his gut as that void tugged at him, could feel the cold leeching the warmth from his skin, could smell the smoke and metal around him, and it was . . . it was okay.

This was okay. He'd decided that already. He'd decided to be okay with this. And despite the residual panic, despite the way his heart was hammering and his chest was seizing with that strangled anxiety, he was . . . he was trying to relax.

This . . . this could probably be really nice if he just relaxed.

"I," Jack started, and then stopped, taking a low, deep breath as Dark's teeth grazed across his pulse point, nipping gently.

_Let him_ that voice in his head urged. _Let him do this. Let him take care of you. Enjoy it._

_It could be nice._

_You deserve nice._

"I," he tried again, and stopped with a groan as Dark wrapped his arm around his stomach, pulling him flush to his cool body, heightening that pull that felt like it was dragging the color out of his skin.

That felt nice. It was good. It was okay. _Relax_.

"Okay," he finally managed in a thick voice, his head tilting back, baring his throat as Dark worked his mouth over every bit of skin he could reach, mouth cool but leaving fire in its wake. "N-no . . . no marks, not, _ah- . . . fuck_ , not on m-my neck, Dark."

"Where would you prefer I leave marks, little finch?" Dark growled into his throat, and Jack's knees went embarrassingly weak at that deep voice rumbled into his ear.

"Don't care," Jack groaned, leaning his head on Dark's shoulder as he trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses across his skin. "Jus' not m'neck."

Dark made a low noise of approval and his teeth dug into the juncture at his neck and shoulder, just hard enough to send a delicious kind of pain shooting through him. Jack's hand came up, clumsy and unsure, but the sound Dark made as he trailed his fingers through his hair spurred him on, digging in to hold him against his throat as the demon's hands started to roam.

The hand at his nipple smoothed out across his chest, over the ridges of his collarbone, up to spread his hand out under his jaw, holding his head back as he continued biting out across the meat of his shoulder. The other hand was trailing lower, running through the light hair of his happy trail, and Jack struggled to bite back the whine straining in the back of his throat.

_Relax._

_Enjoy._

_It feels good._

_You're allowed to like it._

Jack squeezed his eyes shut tighter, struggling against the tightness in his chest, shutting out the other voice that was telling him how wrong this was, how weak and disgusting this made him, and he focused on the way Dark's body went rigid behind him as Jack curved his back and ground back against him.

The hand at his throat tightened, shifting to catch a firmer grip, thumb pressing up under his jaw as he forced his head up towards the ceiling, blue eyes opening as he panted and whined and twisted in his grasp. And when Dark's hand yanked the knot on his towel undone, he had to bite his lip to stop the whimper.

"Look at you," Dark purred, the pleasure in his voice obvious as he trailed his fingers down to dance just under Jack's rising cock. "Hard for me already."

"Dark," Jack gasped, feeling the vibration go through the rough palm pressing against his windpipe, and he fought the urge to buck into the touch, letting his hips twist in frustration instead to grind back against the creature's hips again.

Dark's lips trailed up to curve around the shell of Jack's ear, cool breath washing over the delicate skin, and his voice was wicked and rich as he continued.

"What a good boy."

Dark wrapped a rough palm around his hardening cock, and Jack melted against him, a throaty moan rumbling past his other hand, weak knees threatening to give out, and he could feel the way the muscles in his thighs wanted to shake with the effort of holding him up right now.

_Breathe._

"Dark." He took a shaky, stuttering breath.

_Relax._

"P-please." The hand in Dark's hair slipped down to cup his nape, holding him as he moved his hips slowly.

_Enjoy._

" _More._ "

Dark growled low in his throat, and his other hand came down to grip his hip, pulling him flush to him and grinding his own erection against Jack's ass as he started to stroke him. The glide was rough without real lubrication, but the skin was loose enough to allow for an easy slide, and Jack didn't care about the friction just then, gritting his teeth as he bucked against him.

"D-Dark, please, just . . . _ngh_ , just fuck me, please."

There was still a shame that rose in him at the words, a blush working its way across his cheeks. But the way Dark's hands tightened, the way he pulled him closer and buried his face in his throat, making some low, primal noise that had his toes curling in delight. That made it worth it.

"I'm going to fuck you, my sweet," Dark crooned into his ear in a rough voice, and Jack shuddered at the words, his free hand reaching back to grip desperately at Dark's hip. "I'm going to sink my cock into your pretty little body, open you up, bury myself so deep you can't breathe and drag every one of those gorgeous sounds out of your lips."

Dark paused to press an almost tender kiss to the underside of his jaw, and Jack could feel the smile there.

"And you're not going to hide any of those noises from me."

Jack was nodding without even thinking about it, a whispered " _yes_ " slipping past his lips as he moved his hips to the slow rhythm Dark had started, trying his best to grind back against him with every stroke, because he'd be damned if he was the only one wrecked this time. The little noises he'd managed to pull out of the demon so far were thrilling, intoxicating, and he just wanted more.

He moaned as Dark thrust forward, grinding his obvious erection against his ass and bucking him into his hand as he stroked. When he did it again, Jack had to bite his lip to catch the embarrassing sound caught in his throat.

The hand around his throat tightened, not blocking his air, but holding him with a pressure that made him groan and his shaft twitch in that cool hand.

"Louder, Jack," he growled, and Jack groaned as he twisted his hand around his length.

" _Fuck,_ " Jack said thickly, the hand at Dark's hip gripping desperately, his skin smooth and rigid beneath his fingertips. "Stop, a-ah, stop fuckin' teasin' and- oh, _fuck_ , come _on_ Dark."

The demon's low laugh at that probably would have annoyed him if he wasn't so far into this confusing mess of pleasure and guilt. But when Dark released his shaft, leaning forward to open one of the dresser drawers and pulling out a bottle of lube that Jack definitely didn't remember putting in there, all thoughts of possible annoyance were gone.

Instead, there was just the throbbing of his dick between his legs and the panicked tightening in his chest as he tried to breathe.

The hand at his throat released him as well as Dark leaned back to prepare, and Jack fell forward, resting his weight on his forearms against the dresser, shoulder blades pressing out as he let his head hang down, eyes shut tight. His body wanted this. Fuck, did it want it. But his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest.

A hand slid up his spine, resting there with a firm pressure, and it felt . . . grounding. The momentary panic ebbed a bit, his breathing slowing as Dark made a low noise of comfort, some soft croon like what you might do at a wounded animal, before running slick fingers over his entrance.

Jack's back arched at the simple touch, and his moan was too loud, shaky and raw and decidedly unintentional. And then Dark sank a finger into him, and Jack wanted to collapse against the dresser in front of him.

It pushed in as far as it could go, twisting and hooking inside him, pressing just right as Jack whimpered and clawed at the smooth wood. And then there was another pressing alongside it, and Dark was draping over his back, growling in his ear, breath washing over his neck as his body covered him and his fingers hooked just right.

"You prepared for me," he said through gritted teeth, and Jack cried out as he twisted his fingers harshly within him, the stretch there, but not unpleasant as he panted and tried not to bite his lip bloody. Dark's free hand had come back to slick across Jack's length, lube making the glide deliciously smooth, and he struggled to decide which he wanted to buck into more as Dark started fucking him with his fingers.

"Fuck," Jack whimpered, clawing at the dresser and arching his back sharply, trying to give him better access, to open himself up, and entice him to get to the fucking part. "Fuck, Dark, _please_."

"Is this what you were doing in the shower?" Dark asked in a low growl, mouth pressed directly into his ear now as he curled his fingers inside him. "Fucking yourself with your fingers while thinking of how I was going to fill you up? Did you moan at the thought? Bite your lip to try to keep those pretty sounds in. Scared I'd hear you. Wishing I might so I could come finish the job, fuck you into the shower wall right then and there."

He pulled back just slightly to nuzzle roughly into the messy green hair behind his ear, breath heavy as he continued.

"Wouldn't you look beautiful, like that? Leaning against the wall, water streaming across that flushed skin, your fingers buried deep inside you as you begged so prettily for me, and only me."

Jack had slowly been sinking down on his arms, lower and lower as he lost the will to hold himself up, and the feel of the wood against his chest was startling cold, his nipples peaking a little harder at the sensation as he thrust back against Dark's fingers. God, he just wanted him to hurry up, the nervousness fading away as the arousal took over. He was breathless and panting and wanting to sob with how badly he just wanted him to fuck him.

Dark leaned back, making an appreciative noise as he presumably looked him over, and something in Jack snapped, some last thread of shame that the arousal and need finally drowned. With an impatient huff, he dropped himself fully onto the dresser, letting it take his weight as he arched his back and reached behind him, fingers desperately clawing at Dark's pants, yanking them down and whining in frustration at the awkward angle.

He just wanted him to fuck him. Was that really so hard?

Dark made a noise, something between a chuckle and a growl that sounded decidedly wolfish, and Jack growled back, higher, more a whine, but still, he tried. He moved one of his hands back to the dresser, propping himself up again as he twisted to the side to get better reach, and yanked the fucker's pants down with his other hand, probably with more force than was absolutely necessary. Then he caught the wrist on the hand buried inside him, yanking it hard even as he whimpered at the loss of thick fingers filling him, and rocked back to grind his slick entrance against Dark's aching length, and the groan that elicited felt like a victory.

Dark released him, one wet hand grabbing his hip sharply as the other moved to line himself up with his soft, needy hole, and Jack returned both arms to the dresser, biting his lip and taking a deep breath as he started to sink in.

He'd wanted more control. And that . . . maybe it that was weird, but it felt like more control than he'd had in weeks.

His head rocked up, panting as he felt his broad head splitting him open, the pain of the spread sharp and electrifying, but the burn nearly inexistent with all the prep he'd put himself through. It was good. Rough, but good, and he let himself moan, loud and needy and thoughtless as he felt him sink deeper, so slowly, like a conquest rather than a race.

And then his eyes fluttered open, and his gaze locked on the sight in the mirror he'd forgotten was there.

He looked like a goddamn mess. His face was red and burning, blue eyes blown wide with lust, mouth open and lips bitten red. His hair was flipped around, partly covering his eyes, a few strands sticking to his forehead, despite how little he usually sweated, and he could see the way his body was trembling with need. He looked . . . god, he looked like he liked it. Like he was enjoying himself. The way his mouth was curling up around the edges, even as he panted . . . it looked sinful and ecstatic, and Jack felt himself twitch oddly at the sight.

And then his gaze slid back further, and everything in him went rigid.

_Dark._ Holy shit. He'd never looked at Dark during. Not like this. Usually, if he could see his face, he was doing something to twist Jack up into a mindless mess, completely in control, and the one time he'd been getting pleasure, he'd had Jack's face pressed into the mattress, intent on fucking his brains out.

But now Jack had a front row seat to take in the stark image that was Dark in pleasure.

It was Mark's body, he swore it was, but god, Dark wore it so differently. The way he stood, hips cocked forward as he sank into him, shoulders back, one hand smoothing up to press along his back. The lines of his arms, of his shoulders, sharp and rigid, like stone. The way his vivid black eyes were fixed on where their bodies met, watching raptly as he sank his thick cock into the Irishman's trembling body. It was colder, sharper, so much more . . . immovable. Something older and darker, and Jack's body shuddered as he finally bottomed out, watching the way his lips curled up in a silent snarl.

And then Dark's eyes flickered up, catching his gaze in the mirror, and Jack could feel how tightly he squeezed around him, in fear and excitement alike, as he took in that impossible gaze and the intensity that made him feel like he was drowning.

He wondered if he could cum from that look alone.

He didn't get a chance to find out. Dark's lips pulled back further, and he growled before twisting a hand in his hair and shoving him bodily into the dresser below him. Jack groaned at the treatment, his cock twitching at the sharp pain in his scalp and the feeling of strength behind that arm. He was almost tempted to push back, to chase that weird feeling of control he'd had for a moment, chase the image of Dark looking down at him with mindless, greedy eyes, and his arms were already tensing in preparation.

And then Dark pulled back a little before rocking back in, sharply, brutally, and Jack lost the will to fight in one gasped breath.

His body was still arched, Dark angled against his hips, and he was hitting him so perfectly already, just sliding across him and sending shocks of pleasure through him, just on the right side of too much. He was so _full_ , and as Dark leaned over him again, wrapping an arm around his chest as he fucked him, he felt like that starvation in his skin was being satisfied inside and out.

"You pull me in just right, don't you?" Dark asked against his throat, and Jack could only moan in response, clawing at the surface below him, warm now from his body heat. "So greedy for me, darling. Moaning for me so sweet. Clenching around me like you're afraid I'll leave you."

His thrusts were smooth and measured now, rocking him hard enough to jar him, but not quite clank his teeth, and Jack was moaning and gasping as he rocked back against him, trying to match his thrusts, desperate for more despite how much this was already.

"Please," Jack groaned in response, and he wasn't sure was he was asking for.

"Shhhh," Dark crooned back, the hand along his back smoothing up his spine, cool and electrifying as Dark's mouth nestled in over one of the bites he'd made earlier, licking across the raw skin. "Shhh, pet, I won't leave you. I'm going to stay right here and fuck you breathless. I'm going to fuck you until your wrung out and sobbing and the only thing you know how to say is my name."

And then he set to work on keeping that promise, hand reaching down to tug at Jack's shaft, and Jack could only hold on, one hand coming up to grip desperately at Dark's shoulder as he thrust into his quivering body.

"Dark," he panted, a whine creeping into his voice as he felt his body slowly tightening in anticipation, each thrust driving him closer and closer to the brink. "Mm, fuck, _Dark_."

"Good boy," Dark ground out in response, free hand coming up to cup under his jaw, forcing his head back as he dug his teeth into his shoulder again. " _Such_ a good boy."

"Fer you," Jack said mindlessly, the words sounding wrong on his lips without that, and his eyes rolled back as Dark bit harder, growling into his skin and sliding so perfectly inside him, and Jack could feel himself drawn so incredibly, painfully tight as that familiar sensation started in his gut. "Fer you, Dark, you- ngh! God, keep going, please, fuck, m'so close Dark, please, _ah-_ . . . _fuck!_ " 

And then he was cumming across the dresser, cock jumping in Dark's warming hand as he rocked his hips and sobbed. The pleasure was sharp and intense, and he was pretty sure he was babbling as his body shuddered its way through the orgasm, but he couldn't tell you what he said as the waves started to mellow and pulse through him with a deep, warming pleasure.

Dark was still fucking him, shorter, quick thrusts, teeth still buried in his shoulder, and Jack shuddered at the feeling, over sensitive and whimpering as he bit his lip and dug his fingers into Dark's hair. He was whimpering low in his throat, almost a whisper, and it took him a moment to realize he was babbling "thank you"s around his broken breathing.

Dark held him like that, immovable and steady, as he chased his own pleasure, and Jack was sobbing by the time he stilled, the sensation too much. And then there was that feeling again, like something thick and cloying filling his veins as Dark came, something that washed through him with his orgasm that had his body twitching again, and he almost thought he was going to cum again from the intensity before Dark finally released his harsh grip on his skin.

Neither moved for a long moment, both panting, Jack shaking in Dark's iron grip, and there were tears starting to prick in his eyes as he slowly caught his breath.

That was . . . that was intense. That was a lot. And he'd . . . he'd initiated that. He'd invited it, he'd acted like a whore to get it, and Dark had taken him like an animal over a random piece of furniture, and he'd _liked_ it, and-

"Good boy," Dark rumbled again, this time raw and sated, and Jack shivered as the creature shifted closer, wrapping both his arms tightly around his shoulders, caging him in and supporting him as his cock softened inside him. "You did so well for me."

Something about the words curled inside Jack like some nasty creature, pleased and greedy and preening at the praise. He gave up trying to keep his weak knees steady, going limp in the demon's grip as he whimpered and clung to his arms.

He felt so fuzzy. And scared. And satisfied. And weirdly, confusingly happy, even as his heart was trying to choke him and tears were burning in his eyes, and none of this made sense. None of this made sense, so he just . . . stopped trying to make sense of it.

"I'm gonna need another shower," Jack whispered hoarsely, and his skin tingled as Dark nuzzled into his throat.

"Mmm," Dark hummed into his neck, strong arms holding him up, before he shifted and brought both of them to their feet. And then, in one smooth motion, he was scooping Jack up like a doll in his arms, and that flickering gray face was suddenly far too close, black eyes and crooked smile filling his vision. "Let's get you cleaned up then."

And with a wolfish grin, he brought Jack back to the bathroom, shutting the door with his shoulder, and watching him with such an intensity that, for a moment, the only thing he was aware of were black eyes and cool skin and the smell of woodsmoke and sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, what's going on, Poem posted three things in one week, what the fuck??
> 
> Seriously though, I lucked out with time and muse, and y'all's comments have really been helping my motivation, because I'm _super_ psyched to get to some things in the very near future and perhaps answer some questions finally :3
> 
> Aaaaaand, there goes Poem, being a tease again. Thank you everyone for reading and speculating!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: A friendly reminder that this fic may contain some Dark (heh) themes, and that the tags apply to the entire fic. Please read with caution.
> 
> Beta'd to the tune of [Girl That You Love by Panic! At The Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSw7geRUT7k) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

"Oh, _fuuuuuck_."

Jack probably would have been more eloquent than that if he was not currently pressed face first against a wall, thick arm wrapped around his throat as Dark slowly sank into him, growling into his throat. It was hard to find the words to properly express one's feelings in such a situation, honestly.

"Shhhh, my sweet. These walls are thin." Dark nuzzled further into his throat, pressing closer as he shifted to fit just right, rocking his hips to get that last bit buried within him. "Don't want anyone to hear us, do you?"

Jack bit his lip, _hard_ , and shook his head, not daring to speak as Dark pressed deeper inside him, languid and slow, fingers biting fresh bruises to paint over the old ones on his hips. His face was pressed close enough that he could feel his smile against his throat, and he whimpered as the demon turned to graze teeth over his spine.

"You're going to have to keep those pretty noises to yourself," Dark murmured into his hair as he pulled back a little, taking his time as he started into slow, shallow thrusts. And fuck, he had no right to be so fucking good at what he was doing. "Do you think you can do that for me?"

"I-," Jack started, before Dark shifted, his dick sliding across that spot inside him and ripping a full-bodied shudder from the Irishman. He wanted to keen, teeth catching his lip again to bite it bloody and hands scrabbling at the wall as he tried to find some way to ground himself.

He couldn't even see Dark right now, and he was sure he was smirking.

"I don't know," he finally managed to gasp honestly, breath catching in his throat as he opened his mouth in a silent moan, letting his head fall back to brush faded green hair against Dark's face.

"Well, you're going to have to try, aren't you?" Dark asked, his tone sweet and soft, even as he pulled back to give a deeper thrust that had Jack's toes curling in his shoes. "Unless you'd rather scream who you belong to to anyone who walks by."

" _Dark_ ," Jack whined, one hand coming back to grip at the demon's hip, fingers brushing against the jeans pushed down just to his thighs. He could hear distant voices down the hall, the familiar smell of hotel cleaners filling his nose, eyes opening to look up at the popcorn ceiling. Everything around him was so painfully familiar.

Even the smell of Mark's cologne mixed in with smoke and metal.

He hadn't intended to end up in this position in the first place. He'd just been coming by to grab Mark from his room so they could grab some breakfast before all the hecticness of PAX began. But the moment the door had opened, he'd been yanked inside by a flickering gray hand and basically conquered by the demon.

Not that he'd put up much of a resistance. He hadn't really seen the point, not after Thursday night, when he hadn't gotten much sleep beyond a few stolen minutes curled up against Dark's chest in the bathtub. At this point, honestly . . . what was the point in fighting him?

Dark thrust forward hard enough that Jack had to put his hand back on the wall to catch himself before he was slammed against it, and all pensive thought was driven from his head by a burning heat and a jolt of pleasure that had that keen slipping from his lips.

Dark's hand slapped firmly around his mouth, catching the sound in his rough palm as he chuckled behind him.

"I guess I'll have to do it for you, hmm?"

Jack groaned, twisting his hips weakly as he drove back to try to find that spot he'd hit again, whimpering when he got it dead on, too strong, blunt fingernails digging into paint as he tried to breathe. Dark was making some noise behind him, some low hummed pleasure as he thrust into him, just slow enough to allow Jack to match his movements, and Jack let his mouth fall open behind the hand, let it take care of controlling his noises as he moaned into it and tried to remember how to think properly.

"So noisy," Dark growled low in his ear, the thick arm around his throat tightening as he picked up the pace, the wet sounds of their hips colliding and Dark's breath against his ear drowning out the dull sound of the air conditioner across the room. Dark's hand pressed a little harder across his mouth, nose pressed behind the shell of his ear. "Don't you make a beautiful mess for me?"

Jack let his eyes roll back as his eyelids fluttered closed, a rumble sounding deep in his throat as he arched his spine a little further, giving the demon more access, giving himself up completely to the creature holding him and letting the rich waves of pleasure wash over him and chase away everything else.

It was addicting. In a way that sex had never been addicting before. And Jack might have given more thought to that if he wasn't currently leaking like a fountain onto the plush rug. It was too hard to think like this, with Dark's suffocating presence blocking out everything around him, drowning him in the creature as he split him open and drove into him again and again, hard and hot and thick, and everything about this was sinful and dirty, and fuck if he cared right then, because-

The sound of a knock at the door drove the breath from his throat more thoroughly than Dark's fucking had ever managed.

"Hey Mark, come on, we're getting breakfast!"

They both froze, bodies pressed close together, Jack's hand coming up to clutch desperately at the arm around his throat as his heart hammered in his chest.

Ethan. Probably Ethan and friends, come to get Mark since he was taking too long, and Jack obviously hadn't. Ethan, right outside that door, waiting for his friend, while Jack was in here using his body to fuck a demon.

Fuck.

He was already pushing back, pushing away from the wall as his heart did it's best to strangle him, wondering if he could get to the bathroom without knocking anything over and just hide there for the next four hours, because fuck, this had been stupid. He shouldn't have risked coming up here alone, he should have just joined everyone else and gotten Mark in the safety of the group, because PAX was already hectic enough, and he didn't need to add the goddamn demon into the mix, and he should have _known_ better.

But before he could make any headway in untangling himself from Dark's grasp, the demon's arm tightened around his throat, holding him in an iron grasp as he turned to press a kiss into his ear, soft and soothing, before pulling back and speaking in Mark's voice.

"Hey, sorry, I'll be right down!"

Jack froze, eyes wide over the hand still covering his mouth, and his heart was beating hard enough he was sure everyone on this damn floor could hear it. He'd almost forgotten how incredible his mimicry was, how absolutely perfect it sounded, from the pitch to the cadence to the way he tended to turn his words up on the end when he was being goofy, like he was about to start baby-babbling.

Hearing that voice right now, while he pressed into the wall, arm around his throat and cock buried inside him, twisted him up in the worst way, and he could feel Dark tighten behind him as his body clenched hard, squeezing the aching heat inside him.

"Dude, hurry up, you're not gonna have time to eat!"

"I'll be down in a minute, I promise! I woke up late."

Dark shifted, pressing closer, his shaft sliding inside him in a way that made Jack want to whimper, and he bit his lip even behind the hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the moment, wishing Dark would let him go, wishing he could get away, wishing the floor would swallow him up and he wouldn't have to think about this ever again.

"Jeez, man-"

"Go on, don't let me make you miss breakfast."

"Alright, but hurry up! We'll save you a seat!"

"Thanks, Ethan!"

"Don't spend the whole time jacking off, we got shit to do!"

Jack could feel the low rumble against his back, almost like a laughter on the very edges of his hearing.

"I make no promises," the creature behind him called back, and there was something distinctly _Dark_ in that voice, but if Ethan noticed anything, he didn't say it.

There was a beat of silence, Ethan's voice sounding muffled as he presumably continued down the hall, talking to someone who gave him a low reply, before the voices were too far away to make out. Jack was frozen, breathing hard into the hand, body shaking just barely as he continued to clench around the cock inside him, waiting for Dark let him go, or start up that teasing, steady rocking that would turn his mind back to mush. Anything other than sit here and let him wallow in the utter shame crawling up his spine.

What he wasn't expecting was Dark's hand to release his mouth, his arm to release his throat, and a heavy hand to come down on the back of his neck, shoving him _hard_ into the wall. His beard scratched across the paint as Dark's other hand fell to his hip, holding harshly as he drew back and slammed into him with a growl, a low, animalistic sound that set the hairs on his nape on end before the creature was fucking him in earnest and driving out anything as silly as _fear_ in favor of the almost painful pleasure ripping through him.

" _Fuck-_ " Jack spit before biting down hard on his lip, throat convulsing around the sound as he tried to hold it back. Dark didn't correct him, didn't _sush_ him or bring his hand back up to catch the sound. Instead, he leaned over him again, arched over his back, breath hot against his neck and shoulder as he rocked into him, brutal but smooth, unrelenting as he slid against that spot deep inside him, and Jack wasn't going to be able to fucking speak by the time he was done with him.

The Irishman raised his own hand to cover his mouth after a moment, whimpering, too loud, struggling to fit his fingers between his cheek and the wall as his body was shoved against the dark paint. He could barely breathe around the gasping, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as that warmth bubbled deep in his gut, tightening and coiling like he was about to explode. His eyes were trying to roll back and he shut them tight, arching to throw his head back, jaw bruising against the wall as he whimpered and moaned and tried not to let the sobs escape.

Dark came first. Which was startling for a moment, the arm coming back up around his throat to crane him back, face buried in his burnt green hair, breath coming out in an inhuman snarl. He might have taken a moment to take it in, to experience the demon losing his composure as his body jerked and his throat made some broken noise, if that dark, cloying, _sick_ rush hadn't flooded beneath his skin, and his eyes shot open, only to roll back with a strangled noise as he came completely untouched.

The hand not still desperately trying to hold back the broken sounds in his throat reached down to hold his pulsing shaft, stroking himself through his orgasm as the world around him whited out and his knees jerked weakly, struggling to hold him as his entire body surged with pleasure.

Dark was petting him by the time he started to come back from his high, thick fingers carding through his hair as he pressed his nose behind his ear, almost nuzzling as Jack tried to remember how to breathe. The arm was still slung around his throat, but looser now, and he found himself leaning into it as he panted into his hand. He thought Dark might have been murmuring something, but he was still too high in the clouds to really understand it, and his voice was too low to really make out. Instead of trying, Jack simply leaned against the wall, taking in his slowing heartbeat, the cool touch of Dark's arm, the pull of the void behind him, the way his hair tickled his cheek as Dark breathed against it.

There was that . . . almost peaceful feeling again. Not happy, not sad, not stressed, just . . . was it content? Content implied happiness, didn't it? And this was . . . this wasn't happy, he was pretty sure. It was . . . empty without being empty. Tired without being tired. Serene without . . . he didn't know what to call it. But it was . . . nice.

Dark shifted his head, pressing his nose closer into Jack's hair and taking a slow, deep breath, and Jack shivered, clenching around the softening shaft inside him.

"You ass," he finally muttered weakly, hand falling away from his own mouth as he turned to rest his forehead against the cool wall. "You know I don't have time to take a shower."

Dark hummed behind him, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his back and into his chest, and Jack could just imagine the damn twisted smile he was no doubt wearing.

"Mmm," he growled into his throat, pressing closer to nip at his neck before pressing his nose into the skin of his throat, just over his pulse point. "I like when you smell like me."

Jack snorted, suppressing the odd shiver that tried to run up his spine and raising a weak hand to shove at the wall.

"Let me up so I can fuckin' clean this mess."

Dark chuckled, but released him, holding a soothing hand over his hip as he pulled out before stepping back to hitch his pants back up. Jack glanced back at him and shot him a disapproving look.

"Do not leave him like that," Jack groused, though there was no real irritation in his voice as he kicked his own pants off. No point in being modest, and he wanted to be clean before he pulled them back. "Get in the fuckin' bathroom, c'mon."

Dark went with him surprisingly easily, silently trailing his fingers up the Irishman's spine as he wet a rag and only laughing when Jack shot him a look. It wasn't until he had them both relatively clean that the demon pressed forward again, caging his arms around Jack, fingers dark and colorless on the light marble of the bathroom counter, breath ghosting against the back of his neck as Jack wrung out the rag.

"Stay within my sight today," he growled, and Jack rolled his eyes even as he ignored the gooseflesh creeping across his arms.

"It's PAX, Dark, I can't just stay with Mark the whole time."

"Your signings are close. You're on the same panels. There's no reason you can't stay close."

"I have my own panel-"

"That Mark will be at."

"What, am I supposed to do, wait fer Mark teh be able teh take a piss break?"

Dark pressed closer, and suddenly that demon pull was stronger, yanking at his gut and pulling the air from his lungs. Dark's lips were pressed against the shell of his ear, and he felt like something was flickering across his skin, licking across him like some cold breeze.

"You will stay where I can see you."

Jack clenched his teeth, hard, fighting the warring emotions in his gut. Part of him wanted to snap, to rip into the stupid arrogant creature and his goddamn need for control. But another, deeper, more twisted part of him wanted to cave to the command, let him take control, let him make the decisions.

It made him want to vomit.

"Fine," he said instead, spitting the word from between clenched teeth and slapping the rag against the counter, feeling a few stray drops of water kissing across his face and feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Dark jerked his head just slightly, knowing he must have gotten hit too. "I will _try_ to stay close to Mark today. Now get t'fuck off me so I can get dressed."

Dark made a low noise, but stepped back, opening the little cage he had created with his arms, and Jack slipped past him, making a beeline for his jeans and slipping into them quickly.

"I'm goin' teh breakfast. Send Mark down when you're done."

And with that, he slipped from the hotel room, running a few rough fingers through his hair and hoping the fucker hadn't left any marks in his utter fucking destruction of him.

  


* * *

  


Jack didn't keep the shitty attitude long. It was hard to do with the exuberance around him, with his friends surrounding him and Mark laughing that laugh that buzzed in his veins and knowing there were hundreds, _thousands_ of people here to see them, and they would get to meet all of these people that loved them.

It was intoxicating. It always was. The kind of exciting that settled under his skin and made him feel like he was buzzing with electricity, with energy and hype and emotion, enough that he just wanted to hug random people around him.

There were certainly stresses that came with it. It was a long schedule they had to keep to, many hours ahead of them of constant interaction, of talking and smiling and listening to people bubbling with similar stories from different faces, and it took a lot of energy to get through it. But Jack lived for it. He lived for these little periods in the year where his fans weren't just behind the little glass eye he stared at every day, but _right in front of him_ , beaming and breathless and full of excitement, and Jack couldn't help but be addicted to it.

The first half of the day was fairly mellow, a surprising amount of free time that gave them leave to explore and experience PAX for themselves, getting to sit in on a panel they were all excited for, and goofing off as they ran around the main floor. They interacted with as many fans as they could, without risking an overwhelming scene, jumping in and out of groups with practiced ease, and darting off to some of the panelist-only break-rooms when things got too close to chaos.

They went by in a blur, but Jack could feel himself branding the interactions into his mind. A little boy wearing a flat cap and screaming in excitement when he saw Jack. A group of younger girls that dissolved into a collective incoherent mess when Wade dragged them into an argument they were having. A girl who tried desperately to give Mark a plushie she had made, who looked only mildly disappointed when he finally got it across that she'd have to bring it to the signing since he couldn't bring it around with him all day. A shy young girl who'd hesitantly said hi to Jack before her friend came crashing in to squeal about Anti and a tease that he'd put out on Tumblr a few days prior. A guy who ran by and slapped Mark on the arm only to run away screaming "I SLAPPED PEWDIEPIE" at the top of his lungs.

There were too many people for him to remember them all. But he remembered as many as he could, matching stories with faces, and sometimes even names, and despite how worn out he was by the time they were heading to Mark's panel, he was still sad to stop the candid interactions.

Jack got a good seat for Mark's panel, of course, grinning and watching as Mark made a complete and total lovable ass of himself on stage. He was calmer than he'd been in years past, more practiced with being on stage, but his child-like energy and stupid humor was still buzzing around him with every movement he made, and Jack couldn't help but grin as he watched that panthera body prowl across the stage as he grinned out at the audience.

It was later, an hour before their signings, the group sitting in one of the break rooms, scarfing snacks and shit talking, that Mark pointed out the bruises.

"What's on your neck, man?"

Jack looked up, halfway through a vendor burrito, eyebrows raised in question as he glanced around, realizing Mark was talking to him.

"What?" he asked through a mouthful of some kind of meat that was probably only pretending to be beef.

"You've got-" Mark started, before leaning forward to brush his fingertips across the side of Jack's neck, eyebrows pulled forward in concerned curiosity. "-like, bruises or something."

"Oh," Jack said, pausing to chew his food carefully as he fought the shiver and the abject horror crawling up his throat, and he thanked the goddamn stars for whatever weird thing let his voice stay completely normal even when fear was sending spikes through his gut. "I dunno. Musta hit it on somethin' carryin' shit around this mornin'."

 _Liar,_ something vicious spit inside him, but he pushed it back down as he took another casual bite of his burrito and turned back towards Tyler, as if the only thing he cared about was him finishing his story.

He tried to ignore it. He really did. Mark was quickly distracted by Tyler's animated story, and he didn't say any more on the subject, and that _should have been it_. The marks were inconsequential, something he'd need to snap at Dark for later, reestablish that he needed to be _fucking careful_ if he was going to be pulling this shit, because he couldn't risk walking around with open signs of the demon's abuse.

He wanted to put it out of his mind. He wanted to just pretend it didn't exist, pretend this morning didn't happen, because Dark belonged in a different world from this. This, this was _his_ world, his and Mark's, and all of their friends', and there was no room for the demon in this place. This was where he should have been safe, where he should have been able to forget that confusing mess and just focus on _enjoying_ this, because this was maybe the best part of his life.

But no. No, instead not only had he been fucked into a wall with his friends just on the other side of a door, the smug fuck had left bruises that everyone could see. That _fans_ could see. That _Mark_ could see. Instead, Dark had taken this one thing he hadn't realized was so fucking important, and tainted it.

And suddenly that damn burrito tasted a lot more like sawdust than food.

"I'll be right back," Jack said abruptly, setting his food down and pushing his chair back as he forced himself to stretch casually. "I'm'a run teh the little boy's room."

"Okay!" came someone's reply, but Jack didn't bother to put the voice to the face as he spun on his heel and headed towards the back door, the one that led further into the off-limits zone of the convention, unwilling to have to interact with more fans just then. He just wanted a moment, just a few minutes to himself, to . . . to realign himself, or something. To get the right headspace back. To put the demon out of his mind, find a bathroom to make sure the marks didn't need more attention, and . . . and maybe some fresh air too. Just a few minutes.

He didn't know where he was going. This area was unfamiliar to him, and there was no immediately available signage indicating which direction he should go in. He had the distinct feeling he wasn't supposed to be back here, but no signs had warned him away, and no one had stopped him, so he walked down the long hallway he'd found himself in, like he belonged there, and searched for a bathroom sign.

He didn't find one. Instead, the hallway ended in what was possibly a cluster of offices, though the doors were closed and he couldn't tell, and a stairwell to his left. He hadn't realized the convention hall had two floors. But he wasn't about to turn back around - he wasn't ready to go back - so he swung open the heavy door and started up the metal steps.

As it turned out, the convention didn't have a second floor.

What it had was a roof. A wide, flat expanse of concrete, waist-high walls bordering the edge and peering off into a sea of buildings and, beyond that, an ocean of multi-colored cars, like some far-off mosaic of glass or marbles or something. The sun was bright and the air was fresh, not too muggy, a pleasant breeze sweeping his hair back, and Jack couldn't help but take a deep breath of the stuff like a man dying of thirst.

It was . . . it was weirdly exactly what he needed. A safe, empty place, despite the hoards of people below him, with fresh air stirring his hair and a startling view to snap him from the dark thoughts clouding his mind. He stepped out, not quite brave enough to stand against one of the walls, but a few feet away, staring out at the world below him, the trees in the distance, the highway rising above other roads like a tangled spiders web, and he was . . . okay.

For a few minutes, he was okay, in his little private world, not a hint of familiarity around him, nothing to remind him of soft brown eyes or a rumbling voice. Just . . . air. And solitude. And Jack decided he could take a few minutes, a few minutes for himself, to just stand here and enjoy it. To just stand here and be nothing.

He wasn't sure how long he actually stood there. If it was actually a few minutes, or maybe just a few seconds, or maybe twenty minutes, he had no idea. He just stood and stared out at the trees and the cars and the sky and thought about nothing until his brain came down from the mindless high, and he knew he needed to get back. The signing was in an hour (maybe less now) and his stomach wasn't quite full enough to get him all the way through it.

Only when he turned around, he found himself staring at a young girl, with freckles and pretty hair and a gentle smile, eyes bright with a frightening excitement as her lips pulled back farther to show sparkling teeth.

"Hi, Jack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to any PAX, and it's stupidly hard to do research on what it's like, so please forgive me for how probably unrealistic this is >.>


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were three parts this entire fic was written for: Chapter 2, this + the next chapter, and a chapter that'll come much later . . . glad I finally fucking got to this.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are listed in the end notes - check 'em out before reading if you're worried. Enjoy~
> 
> \-----
> 
> Beta'd to the tune of [The Sharpest Lives by My Chemical Romance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73Y_x30uKQg) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

She was young - had to be. Maybe sixteen, if that? And small, maybe a head smaller than him, with a petite frame and big eyes that were just . . . staring at him.

Honestly, this wasn't the first time he'd been cornered by a fan. He'd been a lot more careless back in the day, and he'd actually ended up literally stuck in a corner surrounded by a group during his very first PAX.

Mark had come to save him then.

He certainly wasn't going to be the one that saved him now.

Not that Jack was in any particular need of being saved. The girl was tiny, and seemed honestly harmless enough, despite that too-wide grin and the slightly manic look in her eyes. He easily outweighed her, if anything were to happen, and Jack honestly highly doubted it would. Fans, even the crazy ones, were usually pretty quickly appeased by offering controlled amounts of attention until you could find a reason to escape. All he really needed to do was talk to her, he was sure, and everything would be fine.

Jack put on his Jacksepticeye face, offering the girl a broad smile as he laughed nervously, letting the natural little jump of surprise his body tried to do exaggerate a bit, just to ease the tension.

"Oh, god, you scared me," he said with a laugh, watching the way the girl giggled and brought her hand up to her mouth. She was nervous too. It was fine. "Wasn't expectin' no one teh follow me up to the roof."

"Sorry," she apologized in a soft voice, taking a small step forward as she clutched her hands close to her chest. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, he noticed, and her big blue eyes were the epitome of doe-eyed innocence. He wondered if she might be younger than he'd thought at first glance. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just . . . I'm just so excited to finally meet you in person."

Jack smiled, offering her a look of encouragement as he took a casual step forward, glancing at the door behind her before returning his attention to her sparkling eyes. He knew what was coming next, and he didn't mind. He really needed to get back to Mark and the others - the signing was coming up quick - but he could probably get her to walk and talk if he tried.

That would also get them back around other people, which was always good.

"I've just been so excited to come see you," she continued, and Jack noticed how she shuffled a little closer, ducking her head like she was shy even as she smiled brightly at him. "Finally. In the flesh."

She giggled, her voice wavering oddly, and Jack laughed back, trying to put her at ease as he started moving towards the door, posture easy, like they were just two friends talking. And preferably walking.

"Yep. I'm a real boy."

"I know!" she squeaked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I didn't think you were, but you are!"

Okay. That was a little weird. Not that he hadn't dealt with weirder fans but he really wished he just . . . didn't have to right now. Or that at least he had someone else with him, to help offset the weirdness. Because he'd already had too much of that today, he wasn't looking for any more.

"Well, I'm definitely one hundred percent real," he laughed as he made his way past her, heading for the door. "We'll have to walk and talk, I'm gonna be late for signings."

"So how long have you had it?" she asked in an eager voice, and Jack noted she hadn't moved from her spot.

"Had what?"

"The body. Was it really since the Holloween video?"

Okay. Maybe she wasn't just odd. Maybe she was a little crazy.

Shit.

Jack paused to turn back to look at her, laughing nervously, opening his mouth to ask what fucking body she was talking about. And then it clicked.

He'd talked to her earlier in the day. She was the shy little girl whose friend had interrupted to screech about Anti.

Anti.

She was talking about Anti.

"Well, you'll just have to be patient for that," Jack teased in a slightly strained voice. He wanted to hurry up and get through that door, get back to people, and Mark and his friends. But he was also nervous now to turn his back on the girl. She seemed a little more . . . intense than he'd first expected. And natural instinct, paired with societal expectation, made him stay facing her in the spot she hadn't moved from, despite his yearning to escape. "I'm still planning more ego content for later, but no spoilers yet."

He offered her a wink, hoping to mollify her, and she giggled as she took a step towards him.

"So who's doing the planning? Jack or Anti?"

Jack's smile was a little forced now, his eyes tight as he watched her take another step closer. Okay, this was a little more than he wanted to deal with, especially alone. She was definitely giving off bad vibes, and he had managed to get himself stuck with her on a rooftop, of all places. He wanted off of the rooftop now, please. He wanted to be back in the convention hall, with Mark and Ethan and Wade and Tyler and everyone, and just get back to normality and fun. But this goddamn day seemed determined to be . . . well, weird at the very least.

"Well, since Anti isn't real," Jack said slowly, with a little chuckle, like he was playing with her. Usually, he was quite happy to play along, but this was going too far, and he wanted to nip it in the bud right now. Before this chick started thinking he could survive having his throat slit or something.

Oh god.

But the girl shook her head, moving forward with more purpose now, and Jack couldn't help the way he took a startled step back, hands coming up a bit as his heart jumped in his throat.

"Hey, hey, whoa-"

"No, no, it's okay, see?" she said quickly, her own hands coming up as she got even closer, almost within reach now, and Jack was seriously considering bolting. But then she was bringing one hand up to tug gently at the skin under her eye, pulling it down as if to show off her irises, and Jack faltered as he took in the sight.

She had yellow eyes. Or . . . cat eyes? How did he not notice that before? The pupil was slit, though not extreme, still fat and wide, just oddly shaped. And the iris was a bright, burnt yellow.

Was she . . . cosplaying as something? It wasn't any of his things, and nothing he recognized. She wasn't wearing anything that would necessarily denote a cosplay, but that didn't mean much when there were plenty of characters that looked completely normal besides minor details. Like cat eyes. He just smiled and nodded, drawing back closer to the door, and tried not to look as utterly uncomfortable as he was.

God, he'd give anything for Mark to come through that door right now. Just save him from this mess.

"I'm a simulacrum!" she said, like that was supposed to somehow . . . answer something? Jack just nodded with a strained little smile, hand reaching back to brush against the door, fumbling for the handle.

"Oh, that's cool!" he said, in what he hoped was a properly excited voice for whatever she was talking about. His fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and he started to turn back towards the door, fingers gripping the knob as he offered her an apologetic smile. "Well, look, I'm gonna be late for the signings if I don't start heading back. How about we-"

A hand slammed into the door with a force that jarred all the way through his arm, startling him back as he shouted in surprise.

"Hey!-"

"So which are you?" she practically purred, face only inches from his, smiling with those bright eyes and brighter teeth, and that smile was much wider than he was comfortable with. "Simulacrum? Or still an eodem?"

"What?" Jack asked in bewilderment, a touch of exasperation coloring his voice as he leaned away, trying to take a step back, irritated and uncomfortable with how close she was. "Can you-"

But he was interrupted once again as he backed into something hard, barring his escape, and he whirled to find she'd put her other arm on his other side.

Caging him in.

Alright. It was officially time to nope the fuck out.

"You need to back up," Jack told her, the politeness seeping from his tone as his voice turned hard and sharp, staring her down. "Okay? Yer crossin' a line here."

"No, no, no," she started, leaning closer, and Jack brought up his hands, defensive, ready to push her off if he needed to. He didn't _want_ to. But he was also very much not okay with any of this. She was way too close, she was freaking him out, and he was starting to seriously consider calling for help.

Only he didn't manage to get his hands up. Twin pairs of fingers clamped down around his wrists, pinning them against the wall to either side of him, and Jack sucked in a breath instinctively to shout as he shoved back against the restraints. But another hand clamped down over his mouth, and the fingers around his wrists were like iron, impossibly strong for someone her size, and panic started to creep up his throat as he thrashed in her grip.

"Eodem, I guess," she mused, her tone for all the world like she was talking about the weather, and Jack fought uselessly for a moment before slowing, looking around him with wide eyes as he realized that probably wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Fuck, how was she so strong?

"So who did I meet, huh?" She leaned in closer, mouth curling up in an unsettling smile as she stared at him with the same bright, excited eyes he'd seen a million times over. A fan. Just a fan, except a crazy fan who was pinning him to a wall-

Wait. She had a hand over each of his wrists. He could feel the individual fingers biting bruises into the skin there. But he could _see_ the hand over his mouth, could feel it flex as he tried to make noise under it. That . . . that didn't add up.

"Was it Jack, or Anti?"

Those bright eyes were way to close, and his eyes followed the motion of her licking her lips in fear and confusion, before she was leaning even closer, turning her face to hover inches away from his throat. His gut clenched sickeningly as she inhaled, like she was smelling his cologne, and it roiled as the full weight of the situation hit him.

He was stuck on a roof. With a mad woman. Who was impossibly strong. And was currently sniffing him.

"God, I was so excited when I caught it," she said, pulling back, and Jack stared back at her with wide, hot eyes, fear and disgust filling them in equal parts. "I didn't think he was real, but then that scent! Ohhhhh, you have no idea how excited I was. I'm so . . . gah, I'm just so excited to meet him!"

Jack jerked his knee up, hard, hoping to catch her off guard, and threw his weight against where she had him pinned, a sound of frustration rumbling through his throat as she just . . . caught the leg. Caught it before it ever hit her, and shoved it back into place. It was like throwing himself against a brick wall, completely immovable, and he couldn't even pull away as she reached out to touch his hair, like she was touching some piece of fine art, a look of wonder on her face.

And then Jack actually glanced at the arm reaching out to him, and his chest seized.

It was too long. Way too long. And it wasn't coming from her shoulder, it was coming from . . . her back? Jack's horror-stricken eyes followed it to where it disappeared behind her, before watching another rise up on the other side, reaching out to press against the wall as she leaned closer again, and suddenly his vision was filled with yellow slit eyes and a too-wide smile, and an icy weight dropped in his chest as he realized what he was staring at.

Monster.

_Demon_.

Danger.

If he'd had the breath, he would have screamed. But he couldn't seem to pull enough into his lungs, body seizing into rigid terror as he took in the myriad of places he could feel hands on him, the tumble of limbs around her, like some Lovecraftian horror come to life right before his eyes.

"God, he's strong, isn't he?" she asked, her voice sounding like it was coming through water, the rushing blood in his ears making it hard to understand. "I could taste it before. I was like, oh, there's Jacksepticeye, I wish he'd make more Anti content, he's so sexy when he plays pretend. But then I got closer, and you were just _drenched_ in the richest flavor, and I just couldn't believe it."

She bit her lip, so close now that he could feel her cool breath across his cheek, see the sparkle of too-sharp teeth under her pink lips, smell a scent like electricity rolling off her in waves.

"Can I see him?" she asked quietly, voice sickeningly sweet, yellow eyes shining as she pleaded. "Please? I won't take long, I promise, I've just . . . I've got to meet him. Can he hear me right now? Anti? Anti, can you-"

It felt like he got hit with a freight train, all the air ripped from his lungs as a force _slammed_ over him. The hands were gone, releasing him as he slid down the wall, coughing as he tried to remember how to breathe, hands shaking and eyes wide as all the warmth was sucked out of his body, and the world seemed to tilt in a confusing fashion as he tried to gather his bearings.

A terrible screeching filled the air, like the sound of metal on metal, high-pitched and piercing, and he winced, hands coming up to protect his ears as his eyes spun to find the source. The girl was there, a tangle of impossible limbs around her, like some freakish spider, pushing her up off the ground as her lips curled back in an inhuman snarl. The world seemed to crack and distort around her, like fissures in glass, and she was backing away slowly, like a cornered animal, as her lips formed something that might have been words.

And then his eyes slid to the figure she was backing away from, and he forgot how to breathe again.

Dark looked like something straight out of a nightmare landscape. Gone were any reflections of Mark in his face, any amusement in his expression or hunger in his eyes. He was moving forward with that panther prowl once more, but there was an intent to it now that sent a shiver of twisting fear through Jack's gut.

And in that moment, Jack was absolutely certain Dark had never been in one of Mark's Darkiplier videos. He could see where Mark had tried to capture it - the way he seemed to flicker around the edges, his frame cracking like you were looking at him through shattered glass, different stills flipping into focus as his outline seemed to snap like fire. But he hadn't managed to express the sheer reality-shattering, terror-inducing _wrongness_ of the creature. The rage and power and the all-consuming icy _pull_ of that void that made him feel like he was trapped in a nightmare rather than standing on the roof at PAX.

Jack swallowed, mouth dry and heart in his throat, the cold door behind him seeping the warmth from his skin, as Dark stalked forward, his every step radiating threat. Something in the Irishman wanted to look away, wanted to close his eyes and block it all out, because there was no way this was going to end in something he wanted to see.

His hands had slipped from his ears as he took in the scene unfolding before him, and the screeching had let up enough that he could start to make out the words rushing from the girl's lips in between the inhuman sounds.

"I didn't know!" she screeched, Jack's gut clenching at the raw panic in her cracking voice as her array of arms helped to flip her to her back, pressing her away from the approaching creature. She looked like some horrific spider, impossibly long arms a tangled mess sprouting from her back as she scrambled away from the predator. "I didn't-"

"How _dare_ you."

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, muscles constricting in a flood of tight fear as the pure _vitriol_ in the words washed over him. It didn't sound like Mark. It didn't even sound like Dark. It sounded like someone had embodied rage, put a voice to it, and unleashed it on this girl like some kind of fiery flood.

"I didn't know!" she screeched again, and Jack could hear anger there along with the panic, several of those nightmarish hands coming up to curl into claws around her, like she was ready to attack him. "He smelled like-"

" _Me,_ " Dark spat with fury, stepping ever closer, almost within reach of those long arms as she pushed herself back to human feet. " ** _Mine_**."

The girl lunged, hands coming out to reach at the flickering demon's face, and Jack's gut lurched in fear, a shout rising in his throat, though it never escaped. One hand caught on Dark's shoulder, and he brought his own up to meet it, too fast, too confusingly fast, before there was a sickening _crack_ , and the girl was screeching again, yanking the arm back, bent at a nauseating angle.

The sound she made when Dark caught the next one, snapping it like a twig in his hand, face pulled back in a twisted snarl, shot through him like electricity. Some haunting, keening, otherworldly thing, twisted up in pain and anger and fear, and Jack just . . . couldn't listen anymore.

His hands clamped over his ears again, hard enough to almost hurt, and his eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the screaming and the screeching and the fury as he curled around his knees, back against the door, and waited for it to stop.

It didn't take long. He could still hear the screeching around the edges of his hearing, could hear something that might have been speech or might have been more crying or screaming or rage. He could feel the pull of the void, stronger than he'd ever felt it before, ripping every bit of warmth from his body, every bit of hope and happiness, and he wanted to scream, or beg for it to stop. And then there was just . . . silence.

He didn't move. Not for several moments, staying curled against the wall as his breath rushed too fast, in and out, wheezing as he hovered on the edge of panic. He felt like he'd just been thrown into a nightmare without warning, like he'd been walking along, only for the floor to disappear beneath him and send him tumbling into another world of violence and screeching, and trying to organize it all in his head was like trying to catch a rope while falling.

No matter how tightly he closed his eyes, he couldn't get rid of the image burned there now, the screeching, spider-like girl twisting away, limbs coming up to protect her as the vicious, snapping, _fury_ that was Dark bore down on her like a bomb blast. And some part of him was coherent enough to know that he'd come to protect _him_ from the demon girl, but the rest of him was still reeling from the idea of a _demon girl_.

Dark was standing in front of him. He didn't know why he knew, maybe a shadow or the familiar, less nauseating pull of the void, or maybe some bit of sound got past his slowly slipping hands. But he knew it was him before he ever opened his eyes.

There was a hand in front of him, offered stiffly, the outline snapping and writhing around the monochrome skin. Jack followed the shape of the arm up, to the familiar t-shirt Mark had been wearing, to the line of his neck, standing out in tense rage, up finally to a gray face, flaring nostrils, curled lip, and red eyes, that glint flaring to completely cover the familiar black irises.

He didn't speak. He just stood there, holding out his hand, breathing hard as his body seemed to struggle to keep its shape. Jack just stared up at him, mute, eyes wide, and heart hammering in his chest. Everything about the demon screamed "danger" right then. The memory of the sick _snap_ of the girl's arm, the rage in his eyes, the venom spit from his lips. None of it should have been inviting.

And still, he only hesitated a moment before reaching up to take the hand.

His eyes slid to the side as he did, his skin shivering against the almost icy palm, and for just a moment, he caught a glimpse of a tangle of limbs, odd angles over a slumped form, his gut lurching sharply, before the roof was gone, and blackness pressed in around them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, broken bones, mild horror, and yes, Dark straight up murders a bitch . . . it's not as bad as you think, I swear


	14. Chapter 14

Jack had often wondered if Dark could teleport. Sometimes he'd just _be_ somewhere, without any sense as to how he got there, and Jack was sure something had to be going on. There was no way he was just that silent and that quick without Jack ever seeing him. He had to be able to poof around like Nightcrawler or something.

But he'd never wanted confirmation like this. He hadn't thought about what it would _be_ like to do it, just wondered if it was possible. And now he knew, all too well, that it was possible, that Dark obviously had more tricks up his sleeves than Jack had even started to consider, and if the rest were anything like this, he didn't want to know.

Because Dark didn't _poof_ them through the air on a puff of blue dust, like a magician's trick. It wasn't soft and it wasn't gentle and it wasn't pleasant. Dark didn't just move through space, he _ripped_ through it, violently, viciously, _illicitly_. Jack was absolutely certain nothing was meant to move through space like this, the way the whole world seemed to _snap_ around them, cracking into shattered, tattered pieces until a blackness that was more impossibly deep than he could even begin to fathom swallowed them both and ripped them from the roof.

It wasn't confusing - he knew _exactly_ what had happened on some fundamental level - but it was _sickening_. He felt like he'd been ripped out of his skin, each individual muscle fiber shredded only to be rebuilt and shredded again, not a pain but an utter _wrongness_ that seemed to consume him until he couldn't draw breath, couldn't think, couldn't _exist_ in this impossibility.

And then it was over, and Jack keeled over against the cool tile of a familiar floor and _heaved_ , stomach clenching painfully and mouth watering, dripping past his lips as he struggled not to vomit.

His breaths were loud in the overly quiet room, the only rushing air now that the wind from the roof was gone. He was acutely aware of the way his muscles were trembling, the way his throat was raw like he'd been screaming. There was a pounding in his head that was threatening to overshadow everything, and he couldn't tell what was panic and what was fear and what was disgust.

Monster. That girl had been a monster. Clammy, cold hands all over him, skin itching even now at the remembered sensation. His ears still rang with her shrieking, the utter terror in her voice as Dark bore down on her, the wild panic to her as she desperately lashed out against the demon. What had she wanted? What would she have done if Dark hadn't been there? Anti, she wanted Anti, but Jack wouldn't have been able to give her that. And she . . . she-

Would she have killed him? Had that been what just happened? Had Jack just escaped death by a hair's breadth, only the eldritch horror he'd been so intent on escaping from there to stop that outcome?

There was a flash of raw panic, quick, confusing and ragged, before his mind seemed to tip over some precipice, and the panic faded as quickly as it had come, replaced with the simple knowledge that he wasn't dead because _she was_.

Dark. Dark had killed her. Dark had come out of nowhere, rode in like a white knight to save his damsel in distress. Only he was more a monster than she was, wasn't he? She'd cowered before him, cowed by his consuming presence as his rage ripped the world around him into broken, terrible pieces that pierced reality with their alien, jagged edges.

_" **Mine** ,"_ he'd spit at her, with such an intensity that Jack had felt it like cold fingers around his gut, tugging him towards _that_. His. His demon. That terrible, powerful thing, that was his. He'd told him he belonged to him. He'd agreed to that, he'd said so, he'd let him into his body and given up his soul, and _oh god_ -

It wasn't a panic washing over him. His heartbeat was already slowing, even as his mind splintered into a million different directions. He felt like he was breaking, like his thoughts were fracturing out into unrecognizable pieces, and he needed something to hold them together, his own fingers fumbling at his shirt as he stared wide-eyed at the floor, body trembling, stomach heaving, bitter taste in the back of his throat as he tried to put himself back into one coherent thing. He wasn't afraid. He was lost.

The crash of something breaking across the floor behind him was what brought him back. Like his mother turning the light back on in his room when he was a kid, when the nightmares had tricked him into thinking the jacket thrown over the chair was some creature coming to get him. The sound was too familiar, linked with frustration or amusement, and he found himself ripping his gaze away from where his other hand was pressing white skin into the whiter tile and looking up to find what had broken.

He saw the kitchen island first, familiar dark wood and the back door beyond that, leading to the backyard that Chica loved to play in. His stomach did something funny as he realized where he was, crouched against the corner of the cabinets, near the sink, in Mark's spacious L.A. kitchen. The lights were off, only the rays of the midday sun filtering through the various windows to light the space, and glinting off of the shards of the broken mug on the floor.

Dark had brought them home. Hours away, into the deserted house instead of back to their hotel room, or back to the safety of one of the PAX rooms. Something twisted lightning-sharp through his gut at that, something that wasn't quite fear, but should have been, as he realized he was alone with the creature.

Movement caught his eye, and he glanced to his left, to the other side of the island, where Dark stood out as a sharp outline in what should have been muted light, his outline snapping around him like fire, or lightning. He was rigid, the fury clear in him even with his back to Jack, and the Irishman swallowed around a swiftly drying mouth as he watched him swipe his arm over the far counter, sending a flurry of paperwork and a collection of decorative plates tumbling to the floor to shatter and glint in the soft light.

Jack jumped at the loud sound of the porcelain breaking over the floor again, scooting back slightly to tuck further in the corner, before his body simply froze him where he was, unwilling to call any more attention to himself than was necessary.

He did not want Dark to look over at him. He did not want Dark to even remember he was there. Because Dark was mad. No, _god_ , that was an understatement. Dark was _furious_ , his rage rippling over his form as he made some vicious, inhuman sound that seemed to fill what he'd always thought to be a massive kitchen, making it feel cramped and tiny with his force, and Jack felt the first hints of a creeping fear clawing its way up his throat.

Jack had never been particularly interested in Mark's Darkiplier content - the early stuff being creepy, but not particularly well representative of the creature, and the later edits making him almost uncomfortable to watch when he knew he had to interact with the creature himself. But he had a moment of recognition, a single sharp memory of the facsimile fracturing and snapping, showing glimpses of rage even as he smiled at the camera, and he understood where it came from now.

It was like Dark's skin couldn't contain him. No, not his skin, but his entire . . . everything. Like this reality couldn't hold onto the fractured, snapping thing standing in the kitchen, like a flag whipping in a windstorm. He seemed to flicker and crackle, outline jumping and breaking as he turned sharply towards the island and lashed out at the fruit bowl there, scattering apples and oranges onto the already messy floor, a single bright red fruit making a high arc through the air before it pinged off the back door with a wet sound.

_Is this what a demon tantrum looks like?_

The thought was quick and disconnected, like he was hearing someone ask it on a tv somewhere instead of his own mind. It was almost enough to pull him back though, the absurdity of the moment, the picture of Dark tossing things around like a toddler mad that he had to go to bed, only this was too . . . too much. Too frightening and intense, and the raw power behind it kept him teetering right on that precipice of true fear.

He could almost taste the anger on him, a palpable presence in the room as the air seemed to rend and show brief flashes of the rage that _could_ be, raw and brutal and savage, and Jack shrank even further as Dark's hands snapped out onto the smooth marble counter of the island, the red in his eyes glinting so sharply it seemed to light the fury in his face.

And then muscles were tensing under Mark's simple t-shirt, pressing sharp outlines into the fabric, and a sudden terrible screeching sound was splitting the air - not from some wailing demon this time, but from the place Dark had dug his fingers - and Jack's mouth went dry as he watched the edge of the counter jerk into an odd angle.

_He's breaking it,_ that disjointed voice spoke up again, some kind of wonder or fear or something in the tone as Jack's eyes stayed chained to that form. He couldn't see exactly what the demon's fingers were doing, but he could hear it, hear the way the marble was cracking and grinding under his touch. _With his bare hands. Like snapping her arms, he's just **breaking** it_.

A deafening _crack_ split the room, louder than the others, and suddenly the stone was angling in harshly, caving in the middle as it seemed to fall into the center of the island, wood splintering under its immense weight. Dark's hands went with it, shoving into the new space he'd made, pressing harder to split the stone, again and again, a large shard flying off into the air, glinting in the midday sun before disappearing into the shadows.

And then, after the stone had split and cracked, again, and again, and again, there came a point where Dark just . . . stopped. His shoulders rose and fell with ragged breaths, his eyes wild as he stared down at the destruction he'd wrought, lips pulled back in a silent snarl. A stillness fell over the room, dust drifting softly through muted beams of light as the creature looked down at the ruined island, and the snapping of his outline seemed to ease and settle.

Jack didn't dare move. He sat in his little corner, as far as he could get from the demon and still far too close, and took in the cracks in the wood, the broken slab of stone where he'd once sat and had coffee with Mark, cut vegetables to help with dinner, set up his laptop to work on a quick edit while Tyler and Ethan played some card game.

Was it over? He couldn't tell, his eyes burning and chest heaving silently as he refused to look away. Dark hadn't moved, still a monolith of burning rage in the middle of the room, though his outline was starting to settle, to smooth out, and lose the snapping fury. But Jack didn't trust it, not enough to bring attention to himself. Every instinct in him told him to freeze, to wait, to hope the danger didn't notice him and just went away.

Of course, he knew that wasn't going to happen. When Dark snapped his eyes to him, it wasn't even that much of a surprise, even as his gut lurched sickeningly. Those black eyes were nearly encompassed in the mirrored red light, hiding the depth they usually held as the creature slowly drew his hands away from the mess he had made, and turned as if to step towards him.

Jack had been cornered by a dog once. He'd cut through a yard on the way to a friend's house, and he hadn't expected the big scruffy thing to be out and about. It had chased him into the corner between the house and the shed, barking and bouncing and showing sharp teeth that it snapped at him anytime he tried to move away, until he'd simply curled as tightly as he could around himself and prayed.

Huddled up in a little ball, hands over his ears, praying someone would come rescue him and feeling nothing but teary-eyed relief when the owner had come out to call the dog off him, despite the stern talking to he'd gotten about walking through other people's gardens.

But there wasn't any owner coming out to save him now. And he wasn't some scrawny kid facing a strange dog. And as Dark turned to stalk towards him, eyes fixed on him with an intensity that was already trying to turn his knees into jelly, he reached above him to catch the counter, using it to haul himself up slowly, rising on unsteady feet to look the demon in the eye.

He wasn't going to just huddle in the corner now. There wasn't anyone coming to save him if he did.

Dark was the only savior he got.

"I told you to stay in my sight."

Dark's voice sent a shiver through Jack, his fingers biting harder into the counter as he swallowed. There was still a rage in that voice, an ill-controlled thing just waiting to spill over again, to breach like a hull under pressure and drown Jack in the suffocating weight of it. It was riding some thin line, some tenuous string of sanity as the demon came closer, and closer, and Jack _wished_ he wasn't cornered like this, wished he was able to keep the ruined island, or even just a chair, between them.

But Dark had never been particularly interested in keeping him _comfortable_ , had he?

"I _told_ you to stay where I could see you. Where I could _protect_ you."

"I didn't know I needed teh be protected."

The moment the words were past his lips, Jack was closing them again, soft but swift, as his gut twisted up in something nameless. His voice was still so _light_ , weightless and unafraid, even as the fear put a weakness in him that had him struggling to do something as simple as swallow.

Dark stopped, his head cocking sharply to the side as he watched him, and a ripple of some half-seen echo of rage flickered over his shoulder before it was gone again.

"You wouldn't have needed to know if you'd done as you were _told_ ," Dark spit, a low kind of anger in his voice that had ice creeping up the back of Jack's neck.

But with that ice came the first spark of his own anger, the first feeling beyond fear that had worked its way through the fog that was his mind.

"Yeh could've _told_ me that might happen," he shot back, his voice soft, but not as weak as he felt it should have been just then. Dark's eyes flashed with a hint of fury, and his lip twitched as he bared his teeth.

"I _told_ you to stay-"

"Yeh didn't tell me shit!" The anger was creeping into his too-steady voice now, bordering between justified annoyance and a kind of hysteria as the fog started to bleed from his head. "I'm not yer damn dog, Dark, yeh can't just give me a command and expect me to follow it."

His legs were still shaky, but they pushed him up to his full height, fingers still gripping desperately at the counter behind him even as he struggled to stare the demon down.

"How hard would it'a been teh say, 'hey, heads up, there might be other demons yeh'll want to stay away from, best stick with me'? It's not that many words, Dark. Yeh had plenty a'time to tell me when you were fuckin' me into the wall. Or was gettin' yer dick wet more important than keepin' me safe?"

His voice rose in pitch with each new word, until he was squeezing the words past his constricting throat. The fear was riding on the energy of his anger, twisting up closer and closer towards panic, even as he stopped to take deep, desperate breaths to stave it off.

And then Dark was there, so close Jack could feel that blackness leaching the color from his skin, the warmth from under his clothes, until he was shivering as his own anger struggled to burn in the shadow of the unyielding monolith taking up his vision.

"Don't," Dark hissed, and there was something in his voice like a hook in Jack's gut, cutting and pulling as red eyes stared him down. "Don't _presume_ to know what's important to me. Not when you spit in my face with your willful, _childish_ antics."

" _Childish?_ " Jack asked, bitter incredulity in his voice as he pulled back to glare at him. " _I'm_ childish? Who's the one who won't even _talk_ to me-"

"I made a simple request," Dark bit out, voice teetering just on the edge of rage, dangerous and rich as he stared him down with those impossible eyes. "And you _agreed_. All you had to do was stay with your little _friends_ , and instead, you ran off _alone_ , ignorant and helpless, for _nothing_."

Jack bit viciously at his cheek to stop the sound of frustration in his throat. The anger was flickering in him like a flame in the wind, flaring hotly, only to wane under the suffocating weight of Dark's fury. It was hot, but fragile, and he could feel it struggling to blaze against the demon's words.

"It wasn't nothing, Dark," he tried, his voice strained as the tenuous line he had on his emotions started to slip, a crack slipping in as he struggled to continue. "And it wouldn't have _happened_ if-"

" _It touched you._ "

Something in Dark's voice made Jack stop, his lips stilling over the angry, broken words as he stared up at an expression pulled up in rage and disgust and something he couldn't name.

"You're _mine_ , and that _thing_ put its filthy hands on you. Like it had the _right_. Like it wasn't weak and worthless and _undeserving_ of something so perfect as _you_."

Something ugly twisted in Jack's gut, something that tasted rich and foul alike, that stole his breath and clutched at his heart as he stared up at that flickering visage. He could still feel the anger and the fear, still wanted to tear into the creature for doing this to him, wanted his life to be easy and simple and nice and wanted to punish the thing that stopped that from happening.

But he also . . . _liked_ that. The reverence. That utter possessiveness in his tone. Like he was talking about some grubby drunk smearing his dirty hands all over a piece of artwork. And _Jack_ was the artwork. Not mad simply because Jack hadn't listened, but because something had endangered something that was _his_. That he put so much _value_ in.

The sick little glow of pleasure from that thought twisted sharply over the memory of the _crack_ of the girl's bones, and the desperation in her voice as she begged Dark.

Begged for her life.

Dark had killed a girl for him, and something in him _liked it_.

Jack's throat made a strained noise, broken and soft, as the weight of that crashed over him. She'd looked so young- she was just a _girl_. Just some kid that got sucked into something bigger than she was expecting. Just like him. Just like _Mark_ , oh _god_ -

"So you killed her," Jack said bluntly. And then his shoulders were slumping, weak legs threatening to drop him, fingernails scraping uselessly across marble as he clung to the counter, and finally, _finally_ , his voice was as weak as he felt. "You killed her. For me."

How was he supposed to handle that? How was he supposed to assimilate that into his history, his past, who he was? How was he supposed to live with the fact that he was the cause of someone's death? TV and books and movies, they all made it seem so straight-forward, but the fact was that someone was _dead_ because of _him_.

And worst of all, god, _worst_ of all, he was standing in front of the person that had crushed the life from that crumpled body on the roof, and some part of him wanted to reach out and cling to him. Some part of him just wanted to let the demon wrap him up in his iron grip and black-honied voice and wash it all away.

What kind of monster did that make _him?_

Something flickered over Dark's face, some recognition that Jack saw through the dead kind of haze slowly settling over his vision. The seething rage shifted in his expression, gave way to something else, and then he was leaned down, bringing his darkening eyes to Jack's, forcing him to focus as he seemed to look _into_ him.

" _It,_ Jack," Dark corrected, his voice low and level and dangerous as he spoke, lips shaping so _carefully_ over the sounds. "I killed _it_. Not 'her'. Not something for you to _pity_."

He was speaking lower now, words soothing over Jack's frayed nerves, leaning down so he wasn't looming over him as he looked him in the eye. Searching his face. An intensity there that wasn't quite so venomous as before, but deeper, firmer, more absolute and less wild.

"That _thing_ wasn't like us," he growled, and Jack could still hear that disgust in the curl of his voice. "It wasn't some happy little partnership of man and demon. It _killed_ it's host, carved her out of that body to make way for itself, mutilated it so it could have some weak control. Don't, for a _second_ , feel remorse for what I did to it, for every pitiful scream I ripped from its worthless throat."

His eyes had dimmed, drooped back to those infinitely black orbs, just the red shimmer left behind, and the almost placid pull of the void. He was so close Jack could see the faint speckles that dusted over Mark's face, almost like freckles, so starkly human even in grayscale, as Dark reached up to brush the Irishman's faded green hair from his forehead.

"It would have killed you," he said, voice even softer, and Jack's lips parted as he realized this was the first time the demon had touched him since they'd gotten here, so achingly gentle compared to the sharp rivulets he'd carved in the marble with those same fingers. "Without hesitation. When it realized you weren't what it wanted, some pretty little demon to dance for its amusement, it would have killed you. As if something so utterly insignificant had the right to take something like _you_ from me."

Jack liked to think he was in control of himself. For all the depths of his tumultuous emotions, he'd never slipped up around Mark, or let out a secret, or lashed out in anger. Not since he was a young child anyway. He knew how to keep a firm grip on himself. And yet, he wasn't aware of telling his hand to reach out and grip at Dark's shirt.

As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure he'd been fighting _against_ that urge. Because he was still angry. Or, he should be, at the very least. He was still frustrated, he was still hurt, he was still trying to explain to this creature what it had done wrong. But he was also so . . . lost. Afraid. And he'd reached some threshold of his tolerance where he didn't want to do what was right, or what was important, just then. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to take whatever comfort there was around him, because he was _scared_ , of so many things, and it was so very wrong to take that comfort from this thing that had caused all the problems in the first place, but he needed it just then.

It was just his fingers first, the very edges pinching at the soft material of the t-shirt. Then he was pulling it just a little more, wrinkling it up in his grip. And then he was fisting it in his hands, yanking him forward, head tucking down as he did his best to hide in the creature's larger, familiar frame, let that deep, bitter scent that belonged distinctly to the demon envelope him until he wasn't aware of anything else.

He wasn't expecting Dark to hesitate. He'd figured the moment he gave the creature any kind of sign that it was okay to touch him, Dark would be all over him, hands owning his skin with that absolute surety, like they always did.

But Dark didn't move, still and cool and gray over him, and it occurred to Jack somewhere distant in his mind that he hadn't touched him much at all since the roof. One stiffly offered palm, the soft brush of fingertips over his brow just now, but that was it.

Was he worried he'd hurt him in his anger?

Was he too angry at Jack to _want_ to touch him?

Or was he too disgusted at the idea that that _thing_ had touched him, as he put it, to want anything to do with him?

That ugly thing furled through his gut again, this time in something far less pleasant, and Jack made a soft noise behind firmly pressed lips as he pushed himself further into the grip he had on the demon. Whatever it was, if it was . . . that, or something else . . . he didn't like the thought. He didn't like the way Dark's fingers had stilled over his forehead, or the way he'd stiffened, some low noise, almost like a _threat_ , in his throat as Jack pressed ever closer.

"Thank you," he whispered into the cool fabric of Dark's shirt. "For- for coming for me."

There was another single black drop of silence hanging in the air, before Dark seemed to flow around him all at once. Heavy arms reached around to encapsulate him, cover him as he brought his head down next to Jack's, breath washing over his neck.

He could almost _hear_ the words he expected, low and crooned right into his ear: _"Of course, Jack."_ But it wasn't what he got. No low croon, no smile playing around the edges of his voice. It was a _growl_ , ground out from human vocal chords to sound utterly inhuman, and Jack shuddered as he felt the word branded into his skin.

" _Always_."

There was silence for a moment between them, Jack hiding in the soft fabric of the simple t-shirt, taking in the familiar scent enveloping him, the arms slung around his shoulders, the fingers pressed over his spine. He could feel Dark's steady heartbeat beneath his hands, and the soothing rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, each exhale ghosting over the sensitive skin at his nape.

And then Dark shifted, pressing his face further into his neck, burying it there as he took a low breath, some dark noise rattling from his throat.

"I won't let another thing lay a finger on you," he said, he voice smoother than the growl, spoken with a quiet presence. "You're _mine_ , Jack."

Jack swallowed, not moving his face from the safe little place he'd tucked it.

"Will there be more?" he asked softly, his voice still weak, broken, like he wanted to cry, but no tears threatened at his eyes. Nothing besides the occasional shiver. "At the convention? Are there going to be more like that?"

Dark stopped, his head tilting slightly against his throat as he seemed to consider the question for a moment. One hand had lessened its grip on his back, turning instead to run his fingers softly down Jack's spine in almost familiar patterns.

"They are . . . not common," Dark finally offered in way of an answer, his voice almost hesitant, like he wasn't sure what Jack was asking.

Jack nodded shortly. "And if you're with me, they won't . . . they won't try anything?"

"No." An absoluteness to the word. "I would tear them apart if they tried."

His body jerked in an ugly shudder at the words, but he ignored it as best he could, pressing himself harder into Dark's chest before he finally loosened his grip and took a small step back.

"Take us back, then."

He hadn't let go of Dark's shirt, still holding it, head still tucked down to stare at the floor, unwilling to look him in the eye just then. He could feel the way the demon had turned to look at him, pulled back to stare down at where he was still hunched too close, and he didn't want to see whatever expression was on his face.

"We have to get back for the signings," he explained in a hushed voice, rushing to explain. His voice didn't sound quite so weak anymore. "They're going to notice we're gone, if they aren't already freaking out- god, I don't even know what time it is. And I just . . . I don't want to have to _explain_ , and people are going to freak out, because it's Mark and me gone _together_ , and I can't-"

" _Hush_ , little lamb." Dark's voice had the first curl of its usual cadence in it now, coiling around the words with a touch of pleasure in the sound as his fingers continued their path up Jack's back. "If you want to go back, I'll take you back."

"Good," Jack breathed, lips trembling before he pressed them together sharply, chasing the unwanted uncertainty from them at least. "Good, okay, we can . . . we can deal with all of this . . . after. Let's just- just get through PAX first, and then we can- . . . I don't have any bruises or anything, do I?"

His arms came forward almost on their own command, blue eyes tracing over them as he looked for any mark from the ordeal. But they were oddly barren, only a slight discoloration around one wrist, which seemed wholly inadequate for what he had been through.

Maybe they would darken up with time.

He couldn't remember all the places she - _it_ \- had touched him, where fingers had bitten into him. Had she grabbed his neck? His shoulders? He wasn't sure, his wide eyes lifting to look at Dark as his fingers trailed over his own throat.

"Dark?" he asked, voice still soft, questioning, but gaining strength as he let the resolve start to settle in his gut. Just get back to PAX. Finish the convention. He could deal with this after. The fear, and Dark, and the holy hot mess the kitchen was. God, what were they going to do about the _island_ \- no, no, PAX first, one step at a time. Focus on right now. Dark's eyes on his. The questioning raise of his brow. "Do I have any bruises?"

A pause, but only a breath, before cool fingers hooked under his chin, tilting his head back, and black eyes slid down the length of his throat.

Dark examined him slowly, thorough, tilting his jaw from side to side, as he checked for bruises and marks. One hand slid down over his shoulder, down his arm, forcing it to twist in his grip as he looked it over as well, first one, then the other. The hand at his chin slid into his hair instead, a steady, smooth grip that sent prickles down his neck until he arched under the pressure.

"No," Dark murmured in his low croon, eyes back on his, dark and deep and _watching_ with that taste of a smile around his lips again. "You look pretty as always, my sweet." His thumb pressed into his jaw, a little harder than necessary, as something flickered through his black eyes. "A little pale."

Jack snorted, the sound short and lacking his usual good humor. "I'm always pale. No one's goin' teh notice if I look like a-"

His words cut off sharply, choking over the sound as he remembered something else.

"Oh god," he gasped, heart jumping back into his throat as he shivered. "Fuck, the- the- on the roof, yeh can't leave- . . . yeh have teh- _Dark_ , yeh can't-"

He couldn't get the stupid word past his lips - body. _Corpse_. The dead thing they'd left on the roof of the convention center. They couldn't leave that up there, someone might have already found it, and the thought of Dark going back to do . . . _something_ with the broken, limp thing made his gut do something awful, but they _couldn't_ let anyone else find it-

"Shhhhh, Jack. Breathe. You don't need to concern yourself with-"

"No, Dark, yeh don't get it. Humans don't do so well with- with- . . . we can't just ignore that."

"We don't need to do anything. The vultures will have taken care of it by now."

"Vultures?!" Jack stared at him dumbly for a moment, mouth trying to work as his mind struggled to catch up. "Vultures don't . . . they're not that fast- they don't work that way, Dark!"

"Not _your_ vultures," Dark said, something oddly put-off in his tone, even as his fingers curled loosely through Jack's hair. "We have our own . . . _scavengers_."

"You-" Jack started, only to cut himself off. How much more was there to this that he didn't understand? He'd just accepted Dark as a thing - he still had no idea why, but he had - but he'd never considered the implications of an entire different _world_ of things. He'd never thought past _him_ , and what he meant for his life. Which seemed silly now, but god, the idea of there being some kind of stupid movie-level fantasy world he was unaware of, where there was more than just _Dark_ , seemed pretty fucking absurd, and it was just one more thing he didn't want to deal with right then. "Okay. Okay, so that's not . . . a problem then. Okay."

The smile that had teased around the edges of Dark's lips grew, crawled across his face into that crooked grin as he reached up to trail his nail under a strand of his messy bangs.

"What an incredible little thing you are," he purred, voice full of that rich appreciation that made that thing in his gut all fluttery and nice.

It didn't deter the little dismissive snort that pushed harshly through his nose in the least.

"Weren't yeh just telling me how stupid I was?"

" _Jack_ ," Dark drawled, dragging his name out slowly as he tilted his head with a fondly amused look.

"Okay, shut up, we don't . . . we don't have time for this. Just . . ." He paused, taking a slow breath, watching his own hand slide down to brush along Dark's arm, take in the feeling of his cool skin, the deep tug of color drained. "Take us back. Take us back, and we'll figure the rest out tonight, after . . . everything."

"If you'd like." He sounded faintly amused now. So starkly different to how they'd entered this kitchen.

"Don't bring it up to Mark yet," Jack said suddenly, licking his lips as he realized how long it would take to explain, and soothe the man's concerns. Easier to just wait. "If he doesn't know already. And take us . . . Can you take us back to somewhere secluded? If we have to, you know, travel the same way, I'm gonna, uh . . . need a minute."

Jack shuddered.

Dark's finger brushed under that strand of messy hair again, firmer this time. "It'll be easier this time," he assured him in a low voice, watching the path of his own fingers before he glanced back down to catch Jack's eye. "You will stay with Mark."

Not exactly a question. But not said in quite the same way he'd _demanded_ it in the hotel room. And Jack found himself nodding without a fight.

"Yeah, not playin' that game. And you'll be watching. We'll be fine. No more fuck ups. It'll be okay."

He couldn't tell if he was just _saying_ the words, or if he was trying to convince one of them.

"Okay. Okay, we gotta go Dark. It's already way too long to be gone, we gotta get to the signings."

"Of course," Dark purred, and Jack tried not to stiffen as he felt his arms close around him, dragging him closer to his monochrome chest, iron and solid and musky. He could just see the edges of the ruined island over his shoulder, bits of porcelain still scattered over the floor, and he made a mental note to remember they'd need to be careful with where they let Chica go when they came back until they could clean it up.

"Ready, little lamb?" Dark rumbled into his ear, and Jack swallowed sharply, heart picking up to an erratic rhythm in his chest as his mind raced, trying to put everything in order. Get through the signings. Don't panic. Don't tell Mark yet. Deal with Dark later. Remember the mess. Don't let anyone else see. Don't be scared. Don't look scared. Be normal. Get through this. Fall apart afterward. Not yet.

Jack nodded, letting his fingers fist into Dark's shirt again, a silent tremble running through him as he closed his eyes. Just a little longer. He could fall apart if he needed to after he got through this. Just keep it together a little longer.

He could do this.

"Okay," he murmured against Dark's chest.

The demon pulled him closer, tighter, his scent washing over him to block out everything else as his voice poured like silk into his ears.

"Good boy."

And then the world ripped itself apart again, and Jack clung to him like he was his only lifeline in the world as everything fell apart.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Two Can Be Better Than One, Right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971823) by [Bennyhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter)
  * [Jack (Almost) Says No](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636780) by [Septictrash247](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septictrash247/pseuds/Septictrash247)
  * [Don't Compare Apples and Oranges](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364408) by [Cj_Quinn72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cj_Quinn72/pseuds/Cj_Quinn72)




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